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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28969095">Repression is just a Love Language Best Ignored (Looking at you, Decker)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lemonyfreshness/pseuds/Lemonyfreshness'>Lemonyfreshness</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Goldfinch (2019), The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Eventual Explicit Context, Happy Ending, I swear there are some funny parts but this is The Goldfinch so it gets depressing, Is this a callout to the one and only Theodore Decker? Yes, M/M, Slow Burn, This bitch is longggg, boreo, have fun I guess, there's a bit of angst, this boy is a mess</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 07:27:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>92,035</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28969095</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lemonyfreshness/pseuds/Lemonyfreshness</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a year after "The Incident," as what Theodore Decker liked to call it, that one strange turn of events in which his childhood best friend had come to reconvene and it had been interesting to say the least...But now he was back in the real world. And broke. And high out of his mind. And depressed as ever. Theodore Decker isn't one to naturally listen to reason but maybe he will when once again his morally-grey best friend with attachment issues comes back to save the day. Or at least try in his own way. Wish him luck.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Pippa/Everett (The Goldfinch), Theodore Decker/Boris Pavlikovsky</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chance</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I write a lot. And editing this to avoid my loud Italian financial accounting professor. Enjoy.</p>
    </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter took 3 Kozels, a long-ass Discord call, and copious amounts of Google-searching.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>What do you do when your life’s on the cards and the world’s gone to shit and all that talk about happy endings is for losers with big bubble heads and enough money from Daddy to be at the farthest reach of an end as far as outer space? Well, if you were just some schmooze, maybe you’d ignore it, catch your train and go on with your life. Maybe if you’re a ninny with that positive attitude that needs some adjusting, that girl with just enough hope that you could die from it, it'll be okay. Maybe if you were that princess with everything, you wouldn’t even think about this, lost in your own little world and that big head of hair. And if you’re that ex-fiance of that princess of the bubble, you’re that loser: the saddest of them all that can’t quite figure out that in-between where he gets on the path of death while getting to something great. </p><p>That was Theodore Decker alright; ex of the fatelessness. You didn’t have to worry about fate when you were with someone like that. Fate was for chumps and it sure as hell didn’t matter when you were the god of your own destiny, even when there were bumps on the way like the debts of Mrs. Barbour. You got what you came for with your silver spoon and if you married into it-boy, were you saved. </p><p>It was just that in the case of Mr. Decker that he wasn’t saved, never saved, and instead was hung out to dry by his own doing; a terrible mess of limbs and self-assurances. See he was the one that broke off the little engagement, what with that little stunt he pulled at his own engagement party and sure it was tentative at first (because those Manhattenites pull out on weddings on the regular); there was assurance that there was going to be a wedding, eventually. But that eventually didn’t happen. Destiny had it out for him and with the cards on the table, Theo had set out on a “life mission,” a “pilgrimage” of harrowing horrors unlike the socialite with a taste for the expensive or Butterfingers McGee. </p><p>He just wasn’t worth the time anymore. </p><p>And sure, he gets it. He did it to himself, all those years ago with that stupid painting when he decided that nothing was worth more than a piece of his mother. He will and always will be a momma’s boy, you can be sure of that and hell, if anything came in between him and the thought of what his mother would do, to save the image of her perfect little son, to save the idea that maybe he was doing something right, by gone it, he would. And he did. </p><p>But he wasn’t exactly the worst one in this, after all she cheated on him, and him, wanting to be married-as if that was the closure he needed, relented and actually agreed-to be married. Him-married. </p><p>The guy was an idiot if you ever did see one. </p><p>His life was a testament to the times, a feat of the little guy to see if the land of opportunity would grant him greatness. And in that hazy ambition of “I can do it.” “I can do it.” turned to “I can settle.” and “This is right.” “A perfect marriage is one where you get the pretty girl with the pretty cash on the side.” The moral upstanding disappeared; the push for a hard-earned living dissipated; there were the strong and the weak; the fit and the underdog; the tides and the moon. He could get the girl and the money and the prestige; it was all what everyone ever wanted.</p><p>Right?</p><p>He lived this life of settling expectations-not upholding them, settling. He wasn’t the one for “being great” or “upholding a creed.” Giving a name to himself or satisfying everyone. He could never do that and his grades said that back in highschool and college. He was settling. It didn’t matter. Of course when he was an adult it was different. Needed to do something. Something. Everything?</p><p>All of a sudden he was thrust into a world of taxes and fees and bank statements that told him there was money to be made or everything would all go down under. He had an obligation. An old man had died and he felt like he had a responsibility to do something for him. Uphold the responsibility of his old friend. Besides, he liked antiques and felt like he was good with them, he reasoned; marketing; pricing; appreciating; taking up on nosing-in offers and getting people to buy. He was good at it and it wasn’t like Hobie was. Only he became obsessed with making money to the point that he was doing whatever he could to make some. He was schmoozing about the rich and the popular to the point the social gap blurred and he really was the Barbour’s kid, the socialite he never was. The socialite he wanted to be. </p><p>It was funny. It wasn’t as if he was a part of a rich family or anything. His mother worked her ass off to get him into that private school. His dad was a bum that borrowed money and spent and betted to the point he was on borrowed time. He remembered that and somehow he had gotten to the point he was ashamed and wishing for a family; something pretty and perfect that told him “he made it.” He knew it was never perfect-the family demise had told him so. The lies and the writs of “trust” and “caring” all to satisfy this miniscule need for familial satisfaction was the only way that <em> that </em>family functioned, the Barbours, but somehow he was enamored by the idea of luxury in the heart of family strife. </p><p>It was stupid and it was perfect all in its horrible mass of family-issue glory. He had the issues, the pain, but money didn’t seem to make it better, especially in the life of a NYC dreamer? Life was painful and times were hard but: money made it so much easier. And he had got it in his head that if he had the life of every dreamer, every cheesy movie in existence where the guy had got the girl and their livelihoods were completely and utterly secured, that was the definition of a perfect life. That was when “he had made it.”</p><p>Only it wasn’t. </p><p>The strange thing was that when he was pulled into a hair-brained scheme in the middle of his engagement by the man-version of his best friend, he was sucked into the reality that: he was scum. Which was funny because he sure as hell guarantees that Boris had done far much worse than him before. But he has a sort of remorse for it. A “Je ne se quoi.” to it. Sure he was nonchalant about it, but when it really mattered, it mattered to him. </p><p>It broke him when he had done something wrong. He had seen this; the way his face would break like the sun clouding to storm, shattered, empty and pleading. And it made him realize for years now when it mattered most, he never really cared. And it fucked him up. He never really cared. Only when people that mattered him cared did it ever register: he was doing something wrong. </p><p>That was why he had hid everything from Hobie, everything that could ever incriminate or let him know that he was<em> ever </em>a bad person. And he had known somewhat; about his drug problem; his love of scheming people; the way he had tricked people out of money and value. But not this. Never this. And it had relieved him somewhat that he was such a good actor, but at the same time it had destroyed him. Because how was he going to reconvene with the people that matter now? </p><p>That took a lot of soul-searching that took but a few seconds of split decision. It was simple really: he had to tell Hobie, leave the city and go fix it. Because no one else could do it. Because he needed to do it. Because he needed to prove himself somehow. To himself, it was essential. This wasn’t about people anymore-that was an excuse. </p><p>He just needed to make himself proud. </p><p>But Kitsey grew impatient (the Princess) and he grew tired and as much as he was a buzzkill and a pushover to her and knew next to nothing about society at heart (as she said); it wasn’t worth it anymore. So in an eerie state of calm and renewed vigor, without the throwing of plates or the tantrum of the century, when he got back from Warsaw on his last plane and was back from his long-ass journey, he took a cab, got over to this darling of an angel’s apartment and told her the engagement was off. </p><p>The incident that occurred afterwards doesn’t need to be explained.  </p><p>So here he was, a man on a mission, with money practically exhausted despite being generously supplied by his child friend benefactor, his business was in the gutter and he was desperate for a reprieve. So like any guy with his tolerance levels and work ethic in The Great Big Apple, he got off his ass, snorted a few bumps and set to work. </p><p>With a crack-addict’s vigor (because he was one) and a determination like no other, instead of wallowing in self-pity and being an all-around piece of work, he dove in headfirst into a mess of bills, notices and government documents that honestly should’ve been looked at a long, long time ago. It was just like when he first started, but worse, because this time it was all his doing because he didn’t know right from wrong. </p><p>Sleep became minimal-as if it wasn’t minimal already, nonexistent almost because he had to work fast to bring up their income cause Hobie sure as hell wouldn’t get to it, and with what happened last last time all those years before, if he didn’t get money now, everything would be down the gutter. He was alone in fixing calls and asking favors, eyeing customers and trying to be legal-as morally upstanding as he possibly could. He wasn’t going to ask Hobie to get into this, couldn’t get Hobie into this, because this was all him, all him, and if he didn’t do this on his own, he sure as hell wouldn’t be subject to forgiveness. </p><p>In his mind at least. </p><p>He was forgiven. A long time ago. In real time. Reality: months back when he told Hobie what he had done and had set off to make amends and do something that would make up for him and his bullshit. But the problem wasn’t Hobie. Or his engagement that had been called off. Or even that he didn’t have the guts to talk to Pipa anymore because he sure as hell messed up with that one. It was one of the reasons he had moved out despite the dire need for cash. He needed his own space. He needed to be his own man. He needed to get away as soon as he could. </p><p>Forget the moral duty or whatever crap one spouts when they want to be a better man. It’s all selfish. It’s all him. He didn’t need to be a better self for others. This was him he was talking about. Him and him alone. If he wanted to be a better man, he needed to be a better one to himself. </p><p>And no one could do that for him. </p><p>It was a sad and lonely life out there for a person without a reason. You tell yourself: ‘I need to prove myself.’ ‘I need to show people that I can change.’ ‘I can be great and all those people that tell me otherwise are losers and posers.’ It’s just that at the end of day there weren’t really people out there saying that. Okay, there really people out there saying that, but none that mattered. To him at least. There were a lot of people out there that would say that and he couldn’t give a rat’s ass about-Emily could suck a dick for all he cared-it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter. </p><p>But some people did. </p><p>He had to hide from Hobie. He had to hide from Pippa. He had to hide from Mrs. Barbour. They were the only morally upstanding people in his life out there. He didn’t have any more than that. There were just the golden few that he felt depended on him to the point that he felt that if he showed his true colors, they would leave him. And he would be left to break. Because if some good people out there actually believed in him, maybe he wasn’t as bad as he thought. Maybe he was better than what his mind was telling him he was. </p><p>Hobie was his father, or more so, the father he wanted. That one that was supportive and believed in him no matter how distracted he was. He was that type of support that gave him that “You can do it, champ.” kind eyes and upturn of the lip, smiling so genuinely that it almost left him in tears; everytime he was a mess. You could really tell he cared for him. And hell, he cared for him in more ways than one. Letting him live with him, as an orphan really made an impact on him. I mean, how could he not want to repay him?</p><p>And then there was Pippa, this sweet angel of a girl that had him leaping in bounds and running after her ever since he was eleven in the hopes that he could be near her and suck up that energy of life that made him want to feel free again. Perhaps that is why he had a stick to her, thinking that the first girl he had made an emotional connection with would be “the one” and connect him with the past to the present that made his life make more sense. The appeasement of a mother’s death could just be so that the one was found in the aftermath of despair. Which was cruel in so many ways. Attaching yourself to a girl who just went through the gutter, the same gutter from which you came from makes the fantasy all the more perfect, all the sweeter and cheery: the sugary jaw-breaking comfort of romance novels and cheesy sitcom life comparisons.  </p><p> He was going down the rabbit hole now. He’s been spiraling as of late (can’t keep himself focused to save his life). He can work on autopilot anyday (it doesn’t take that much out of him and coke sure does help), but after the day’s end, the time starts to blur and he can’t help but destroy himself. After all, that’s what happens when everything goes to shit. </p><p>No, he still can’t take anti-depressants. No, he has not been able to “save himself” or “grow a pair.” Where was that “one day a time” bullshit when he needed it? No one was going to save him from himself and no one was going to make his memoirs any less fake. He was lying to himself, screwing himself over the fact that “If he says it enough, it’ll come true.” Screw that sappy crap. Screw that hopeless idea of a push forward going places. He wasn’t going to be happy. He wasn’t going to get anything out of this whole thing. Maybe some guilt relief and a salvaged career, but then where does that all leave? What was after that? </p><p>He was so tired. </p><p>He was so depressed. </p><p>“Potter!” </p><p>And he was hearing things. </p><p>He was at work. He was at work, overthinking as per usual and the one time he wasn’t doing his work like he was supposed to and tallying the month’s expenses, he was hearing voices of all things and the very voice of the person he thought soon would forget. Was he finally going crazy? Was this the end for him? The brink of “No going back,” “No more tomorrow?” Why did he keep trying to fuck himself over? Why was his mind his ruin?</p><p>“Hello! Potter, are you there?”</p><p>‘Fuck, it was real.’</p><p>A hand was waving in his face, the glint of silver rings catching his eyes. Nothing could be more real than the truth. Truly his mind couldn’t think of a more perfect image. He swallowed, overcome with the emotion of that reality and almost afraid to look, knew the truth: this had to be real. If he could only see himself now, he would know that he looked like he was standing on end, shaken and spooked like a ghost had come to pass (which it felt like), yet he was standing as still as he possibly could, eyes far away and completely gone from reality as he had a very jumpy Ukrainian yelling in his face. It just didn’t feel real anymore, these interactions. These crossovers of time in which they intersect and pass. And the last time this happened…</p><p>He grabbed the hand that was waving in his face. </p><p>“Why are you here?” </p><p>His hand was shaking and he knew it, but he kept his voice firm. He held his hand in a vice-like grip in his face, never faltering, and he thought that this had probably spooked Boris because was looking at him between him and his hand like it was the end of the world and he was the harbinger. He didn’t loosen his grip however, overcome with the need of this physical assurance. He felt alive under his fingers, pulse thrumming pleasantly. He felt his stomach lurch at the thought.</p><p>Whatever Boris had been saying before had evaporated and he looked deep in thought, studying, studying him which made him more anxious since when could Boris ever look like that? He was quiet, contemplative, so un-Borislike it almost rattled him to the core. Brows knitted in thought as he looked at him like he was the crazy one! They hadn’t spoken in a year! He was entitled to be asking the questions, damn it!</p><p>But, boy, was he glad that he was here. </p><p>Boris then smiled like he had a thought, one similar to his, but to him it was funny-life was always funny to him. His perfect teeth gleamed despite the poor lighting in the store which was damn irritating because whatever those were made of were practically fluorescent. But he cocked his eyes up at him, winked, and then before he knew it, <em> he </em> was tugging him along and he forgot his words, what he was mad for, work be done, life be screwed as he began talking about something else entirely. Theo almost missed the words that he just heard in a rush of Boris being Boris. </p><p>He was being led away again. In a breath of desperation, he had clung to what he could wrap his head around, because he didn’t know what was happening at the point and he was too afraid of stating the obvious, too caught up in the how’s and the why’s when he really should just be saying something. I mean how could he pass up the chance? How could he lay back and sit there, being passive when he really should-</p><p>Boris was saying something in his ear, half lost from his own musings and half lost to the wind as he struggled to grasp at all what he was saying. It probably didn’t matter. He was probably saying his usual bullshit anyway. Still he wanted to know and being his awkward self, pondered in despair as the opportunity flashed right before his eyes. Why couldn’t he keep his cool? Why couldn’t he just say something? </p><p>“Why’re you here?” He shouted. He didn’t want to be loud but it came up as such as the wind was howling past and he was desperate to be heard. He shook from the core at such disparity he was in, voice raw and aching. He wanted to be heard and for him to hear it; he wanted to not be such a fool. If he doesn’t take one opportunity, for once in his life was he supposed to live the rest of his life without fear? </p><p>He was so pathetic. </p><p>The words from before died down into nothing, and Boris looked at him, surprised for a moment but grinning all the same. He clasped him on the back hard but without the usual sting. Distantly, he thought about how they didn’t hug, like before, whenever they ended up seeing each other. They were always grasping (Boris forcing them into it) and now he was feeling that comfort once again. Maybe he realized he was being unreasonable; maybe it was all in his head. </p><p>“Was in the neighborhood.” He said. </p><p>He blinked, almost gobsmacked at such a reply, but not really. The expectation of such a response was overwhelming and he almost laughed, hysterically. He doesn’t think he would ever expect anything less. It was stupid and childish and it left more questions than answers, but seeing that cockamany grin as he tilted his head like a dog- Tt was strange, a queer happening as he switched for one emotion to the next. Maybe Boris made him a little crazy. Maybe he was the only one that he would ever let him lose his cool. </p><p>He smiled. </p><p>As he was led around away to whatever scene Boris had in mind for him, he was very much reminded of before, when he had sworn he had seen Boris by the store once, just before they had crossed paths for the first time in years. The figure has eluded him, the warnings of danger almost making him laugh at the very thought of it. Like Boris was ever a threat to him. </p><p>If he thought of it, really thought of it, their passings were never coincidence. Their meetings were never accidental. Either there really was a god out there or Boris was always in arms reach. Either reason surely meant Boris’s involvement, however nonsensical. He was always able to imagine Boris as something outer-worldly. He could take it to himself to believe he would be the one person divinity would listen to. </p><p>But obviously these set-ups were all him. </p><p>Like anything was ever chance with Boris. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Okay think about this: isn’t it insane how much surveillance Boris had on him? The man appeared out of nowhere saying omg I haven’t seen u in forever blah, blah, blah. Theo saw a shady figure hanging around the store at night? His buddy told him Russians were watching? Boris just showing up to his engagement? The boy was being followed. I mean you think Boris didn’t have eyes on him, for years? You lying to yourself. This boy has zero self-preservation. Zero. I wouldn’t even be surprised if Boris kept yearly tabs on the places he went to make sure he didn’t get killed. Pfff: Boris is his fucking mom.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Morning</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>He stayed. </p><p>Theo looked upon his couch in surprise, thinking he must be hallucinating. He rubbed at his eyes irritably and lo and behold, the sleeping body of a Boris Pavlovsky was snoozing softly, mouth agape and drooling against his arm. It made him smile at the nostalgia of it and immediately he thought back to all the times that he had seen this man when he was a boy, snoring on his bed and kicking at him in his sleep and despite the fact that he was a man now, despite the fact that he was larger, longer, lankier and smattered with tattoos across his body, there was still this knowing tug that made him feel that for one moment, nothing had changed at all. </p><p>They had come home to his place after their night out, absolutely trashed and Boris unwilling to call back Gyuri. It was late and he didn’t trust Boris to make a decision for them then, so he had called a cab, shoved him in, after much complaining, absolutely drunk with this lunatic while he was singing in Russian in the backseat-much to everyone’s disdain-and he was trying to get him to shut it. Needless to say he failed. </p><p>He thought he’d leave in the morning. It was almost obvious that he would leave at first light, disappear into daybreak and it would feel like all of but a dream. A ‘Take me to Neverland.” sort of deal where Peter was gone and the Lost Boys disappeared into memory. </p><p>But magic somehow felt alive again. </p><p>He was actually still there. </p><p>Boris then shifted in his sleep and he jumped, scared, and then hastily walked away to attend to the kitchen. He didn’t know why he did this. It wasn’t as if he had never done it before: watch him in his sleep as he counted the hours before he could the sunlight leaked into their room-it really was their room back in Vegas-before he could shove him over, crashing him into the floor before a chase would begin and he’d be laughing, quickly caught as he was pushed harshly against a wall. He never was that strong (back then he was short, all bones like Boris, but no height) and he could be quickly pinned and locked in place, no chance of escape as Boris howled in victory in his face.  </p><p>He quickly shook his head clear himself of those thoughts and desperately sought out for something to give Boris to eat. He wasn’t one for breakfast (stomach could never really take it), but he sure as hell wasn't about to let Boris leave without some kind of sustenance. He looked about his pantry in earnest-as if he would find anything even a little bit edible, and sighing to himself, thought about rushing to the store, but then thought the better of it. Who knew if Boris would still be there by the time he came back. </p><p>Still, he had to have something to eat, and after a little bit of scavenging, found a beaten-up cup of ramen that would have to do. It made Theo feel anxious having to resort to giving him cupboard food, but it wasn’t as if Boris was that picky, so why did he have to be so damn nervous? Quietly, he heated up the only pot he had with some water while he opened the packet, feeling very much exposed. This was a new apartment, he reasoned with himself. He was just getting himself situated was all. It wasn’t his fault he didn’t have any proper groceries. Boris had come out of nowhere, and ill-prepared, this was all he had at the moment. </p><p>As the water heated to the desired temperature, he carefully put the ramen in, pushing it beneath the surface of the water with a spoon to get it softened quickly. He hid the evidence that there was any ramen packet to begin with despite telling himself it was fine and as he drained and mixed the seasoning that came with the packaging, he could hear him stir on the couch, immediately setting him off. </p><p>Tentatively, he walked towards the living room, feet padding softly on the floor (he was barefoot, hadn’t even gotten dressed that morning) as he peered to see if there were any signs of wake. Thankfully however, Boris was still a deep sleeper and muttering weakly, had his face planted into the cushions of the couch in a position that was sure to leave an ache in his back as soon as he woke up. He grimaced, but otherwise left him alone as he tended to his own devices. The ramen was ready, and relieved, he had set it up on his poor little kitchen table, a travesty of loose papers and furniture magazines. Of course he moved everything off the table into a little heap in the wastebasket he kept close by, promising himself that he would take it to recycling when he knew he wouldn’t. </p><p>“What’s the time?”</p><p>He startled, and turning, he found Boris looking quizzically at him, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he unconsciously scratched his side, a sliver of skin peaking out as he looked blearily at him. Despite being in the same clothes as before, there was air of sleep to him that Theo could just tell from the rumple of his clothes to the frizziness of his hair. It looked like a wad of black clumpy curls, a bird’s nest stuck to his scalp that made him gasp and lose himself for a minute, back to sand and heat and sun. It took him back and he had to blink to get the image out of his head. Turning, he made himself look busy cleaning up. </p><p>“8:38.”</p><p>This seemed to satisfy Boris as sedately, he sat down at his kitchen table, watching Theo as he scrubbed a pot. Stupidly, Theo continued scrubbing, hurried, not wanting to see that look at that face behind him; he knew the one: this careful face of easy calm that would only serve to rattle him. And he didn’t want him to see that. Taking all his frustrations out on the grease of the pot, he resolutely paid attention to the task at hand. However the silence of the room made the situation even more daunting, and not knowing what to do without a mantra of meaningless Boris jabber, finally he couldn’t take it anymore and willed himself to say something. </p><p>“I made you breakfast.” He admitted, the sound of his voice scratchy and unsure making him all the more self-aware. He continued, talking rapidly. “I know it’s not much, but I just moved and haven’t had the time to go grocery shopping.” </p><p>He could feel his entire figure stiffen as he waited for a response. It’s not as if Boris was one to judge. He’s sure he’s seen way worse. But the lack of comment and the silence in the air was deafening to him, making him all the more conscious of the situation he had got himself into. Perhaps Boris had taken something while he was asleep, making him lethargic and nowhere near present and worriedly he turned his peer back at him, his concern etching his features as he belatedly wondered what could he have possibly taken that could have rendered him in such a state. </p><p>But then Boris shifted, eyes locking straight on his, and as he watched him, a small grin displayed on his features, tired but grateful as he reached for the bowl on the table and dug in. “Looks good.” He enthused as he scarfed down as mouthful and continued eating while Theo just stood there, dumbfounded but pleased. It wasn’t as if it had taken much effort for him, but as he watched Boris slurp up the rest of the noodles with that wild fervor of his, he couldn’t help but find himself a little happy. Once done Boris slammed the bowl onto the table seemingly satisfied as he burped softly, attempting to cover his mouth with his sleeve. “Delicious.” Theo made a face, but otherwise didn’t react much as he reached for the bowl to wash. But startlingly, Boris grabbed the bowl before he could, bringing it close to his person as Theo looked back at him, confused. </p><p>“I can do it.”</p><p>Theo looked back at him in shock as if he had grown a second head. This was new. And not at all like childhood. Like a sudden punch to the face, Theo was reminded in a way of the situation at hand and this was not at all (not by a long shot) like their time as kids. The image present was messing with the image he has had for such a long time and dumbstruck, he stood there for what seemed like a long time before Boris spoke again. </p><p>“Let me.”</p><p>What else was he supposed to do, fight him over it? He’s never been one to convince Boris of anything before (not like anyone ever could), and with the way that he was staring back at him, a hard resolute look to his face that he had never seen before, he didn’t have a choice at this point. He would always be letting Boris get his way, even after all these years. </p><p>“Okay.”</p><p> And he moved out of the way he had unconsciously blocked as Boris moved towards the sink. Awkwardly, he stood there, shifting in his place as he watched Boris set to work, doing the same as he was doing before as Theo felt his anxiety peak as he had nothing else to do, but realizing that he wasn’t even dressed, hopped from foot to foot in his own kitchen as he debated retreating to his room. He made an effort to leave without a word, but feeling that that was rude, instead turned to address Boris. </p><p>“I’m going to get dressed, okay?”</p><p>He got a noncommittal response to that and feeling somewhat more at ease, carefully walked away in a manner that Theo hoped looked normal as he headed to his room. What he should have been doing was working up the nerve to have a conversation, do something, anything, before Boris was gone like the wind and without a trace. He never knew when he would see him again. Hell, it was a miracle that he has seen him again at all. He always worried for Boris despite the disconnect; despite all the years and headaches; despite wanting to have punched him in the face multiple times (that was a given; Boris has a very punchable face), he cared for him. He cared for him and had wondered, all this time, where he had been and what he had seen; what he was doing; where was he unleashing his havoc; was he going to die before he got the chance to see him again? Was he going to die with him?</p><p>It always felt like fate had caused Theo and Boris to meet each other but in a rather horrible and cruel way. They became friends in heartbreak, forever entangled, living but teetering on the edge of death as teenagers; one wrong pill away from an O.D, that finality to life almost expected of them. It was never simple with them; their lives being chaotic and terrible from the get-go. It’s just that even after they went on their separate ways, there was never anything stopping them from growing desperate. Abusing drugs; taking shots; never eating; downing coffee; this wasn’t a never-ending shit-show that would end in a mother’s tears. They weren’t good enough for that (their mothers were already dead anyways). No, it seemed that apart, they were still terrible, but together: they would as the fates had deemed it. </p><p>He’d had nightmares about that, falling asleep only to dream of a scene just like Amsterdam: just him and Boris in a foreign land fighting for their lives once again. Only this time, fate had won. Boris would fall, and blood gushing, would tell Theo to run, his tone telling him that he was done for and that Theo should, had to move. Had to move, for him. But he couldn’t move. Not now. Not ever. He’d be frozen, staring in horror as one of the few people that mattered to him the most disappeared before his eyes, the bright flashing browns dulling to a deep black before a gun shot a bullet once more and he’d wake up in a sweat in some only to promptly spill his guts.</p><p>Thinking about this only served to make him want to turn around and-and do what? He felt like he was about to ride on instinct, to act just to act- much like Boris does on the regular, and that was bad. He felt it in his gut, and steeling himself, pulled out a button-up and slacks and slipped them on as he kept reminding himself that he was okay. Everything was fine. Everything was fine. He took a deep breath. He could turn back and Boris would be there. Fine. Tangible. </p><p>Then gone. </p><p>There had to be a way to make sure that Boris would come back, not do something stupid and disappear again. Couldn’t he tie him to something, something physical to keep himself from getting into dangerous situations that could cost him his life? There had to be a way, he reasoned with himself, something that would make sure that he’d come back. And like with all woes that Theo had found in his life, everything seemed to come together with one thing: The Goldfinch. </p><p>It’s been over a year now and still that painting has continued to haunt Theo’s life. It was pain, suffering, heart, love, ambition, all rolled into one masterpiece of a bird: Fabritius’s greatest work. And it brought him back Boris. It had brought him back Boris, maybe accidentally, but it brought him back. Boris felt a sense of duty with that painting, that he had to come back, and set things right with Theo. He knew the meaning behind it and the treasure it was for him and in believing so, he had risked his life-his life to get it back for him. </p><p>‘That could work.’ He couldn’t help thinking. That could work. Sure he didn’t have a priceless painting hanging around, but it wasn’t as if he couldn’t use any other means. He remembered how when they were younger, they would share everything, what from pocket knives to underwear, but maybe, just maybe, he could get an obligation out of it. Boris didn’t have any other clothes on him, so maybe if he gave some and asked him to bring them back… He picked out a pair of black dress pants to go with an old maroon sweater (it reminded him especially of the sweater Boris seemingly always had on him before) and hurried out, not wanting to look any more frivolous and vain than he probably was.  </p><p>When he got back to the kitchen he found Boris making coffee on his stove, the kettle just boiling and thankful for its scent, walked in feeling a bit more refreshed than he was earlier. He carried the lump of clothes with him and naturally, since most would find it strange, Boris had given him a raised eyebrow he entered. Theo tried not to feel just the tad bit intimidated by it. </p><p>“Here, put these on.” He mumbled, looking away from whatever face Boris was sure to be making. This has to be weird now, now that they’re full-grown adults and not just teenagers. It must be, he reasoned with himself. He felt weird as he shifted about, feeling awkward with those eyes on him, bright and curious. But Boris took the pile from his hands without a word, because Boris never had been one to say no, to be scandalized (that was all Theo) and then, high-tailing it to the bathroom, left and closed the door with a thud. He was a little miffed by such a reaction, but honestly a little bit relieved. If he had decided to strip in his kitchen- That would have been too much much. </p><p>Why was he always expected Boris to do something stupid and senseless, acting like a kid against the world? He was already suspected that he was and forever would be-a child, but he should suppose that he’s grown somewhat. If he thought back to how he is now compared to back then: more cautious; frivolous; definitely still as uncaring to situations- He should be expecting more of him.</p><p>When he came back, he simply smiled at him as he clasped him on the back, startling him as he felt a heavy weight on his shoulder, bending him forward. His hand had reached up to his shoulder blade now, he realized. He never thought about it. </p><p>“Thank you.” He murmured.</p><p>His head was buried in the crook of his neck and he was warmer, and smaller than he remembered and he felt that if he breathed now just a little bit, he would get an inhale of curls to the face. It probably would have been nicer had he moved his arms to reciprocate, but like the square he was, he just couldn’t bring himself to move. But Boris was compliant, affectionate enough for the both of them, and as Theo just-let himself have this, he internally debated with himself if saying anything would ruin the moment. Weakly, he breathed out on Boris’s skin, heart thundering as he made a move to speak. </p><p>“You can keep it-the clothes...till next time.”</p><p>He hoped for fucks sake that he didn’t sound like an idiot and as Boris looked up at him-an unreadable expression on his face-Theo could feel alarm bells blaring in his head as he automatically backed away-smiled at him, serene almost and pulled him back in. This time Theo didn’t fight it-he didn’t have the heart, and embraced him, arms wide and encompassing. He felt different than he remembered, brittle, like a bird, and he wondered if hugging him this fiercely would hurt him. </p><p>But Boris would do anything but back away from a fight and if anything, he may have hugged him harder, always the one to show as much gusto as ever. He never showed fear. Ever. So clear with his heart on his sleeve, he was always reaching, reaching, reaching for him and sometimes he thinks that if not for him, he would never be where he is today. </p><p>Scratch that; he wouldn’t be where he was today without him.</p><p>So he hugged harder and hey, maybe Boris stole the air from his lungs; maybe he was already feeling light-headed, dizzy. It was fine. It was fine he told himself. So after a time of bodily affection and tense limbs, as per usual, Boris clapped him on the back and steered him around, laughing and going about some old job where he ended up landing a plane, and really, he didn’t know if he believed it or not so he nodded along until they were facing his front door and he realized where this was going. </p><p>He turned and Boris stopped. He was giving him that knowing, silent look that made his insides crawl. And knowing, knowing, he pulled his arm off and let go. Just barely. With all the strength he could muster, he made himself look away. </p><p>He couldn’t stand that expression.  </p><p>Boris didn’t comment on it, always the one to ignore the things he didn’t like, even when it was staring at him in the face. He seemed to have a somber stance to it, not one for tearful goodbyes or pain that you could just see with one look at Theo’s face. You could always tell what he was feeling with just one look at him. He was as telltale as they come. No, Boris was blank, knowing, but firm, his expressions practically unreadable unless he wanted you to. Right now he had this presence of ‘It must be done’ and ‘No choice’ about him that told him just as much; how cold.</p><p>Theo bit his lip, hard, because despite the many times they parted ways, it was always too hard not to cry. There was so much left to be said and done. So much that they weren’t able to take advantage of in their youth. But it was all so temporary. Life was all so fruitless; you just couldn’t have what you had wanted. Their lives would always simply pass by one other. </p><p>When he thought back to their night before, he was so overcome with emotion that he felt trapped in his own skull, barely fitting in his own skin; tight; suffocating. Why did it have to be like this? Because it shouldn’t have to be like this. It didn’t have to be like this; only it was. And there they were; standing; waiting; waiting for an end. </p><p>Because everything was shit when it came to them. Even in the worst years of his life he had Boris. And Boris couldn’t save him from that. They were both in a sinking ship, always, always, just hanging on by the skin of their teeth because they were scrappy and human and while they were barely even alive, they somehow were breathing, somehow despite not wanting to. </p><p>They were always going to be fighters, fighters living, and making a life for themselves, always tearing apart and stitching themselves back together but alone, so completely alone and helping only themselves that the few times that they come across each other, or moreso when Boris sees necessity to-it was a massive relief-but just borrowed time. It always felt that those few moments were snatched from reality and immersing himself in that, letting himself rest his weary head in the possibilities only made it harder when everything sank ship. </p><p>He was a fool for believing in the possibilities. A fool for thinking back of what would happen if the world was on his side for once. It wasn’t going to happen. There was no happy ending to this and sure, this time can drag on towards one happy place, but that was just Boris and his happy-go-lucky sense of responsibility. He dug his grave so he was going to lie in it. Forget salvation. </p><p>He was never going to get those clothes back.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Not So Temporary</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>And this is when we all see that Theo is a dumbass (not like we already knew).</p><p>Shoutout to my Georgian buddy for all the Russian translations.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Theo worked. And worked. And really didn’t do much else but get high. But that was for sanity’s sake. He was never good without a few kicks, and really, who wouldn’t do a little blow when there was a momentous amount of financials to manhandle your way through without the surefire help of some exec lackey or an accountant on call? He didn’t have the money for those kinds of resources. Hell, he didn’t have the money for anything but a few cups of coffee and the occasional meal. Besides, it was what all the stock market types did and hell, he could do that if he tried hard enough. And so that’s what he did and that’s what he would do; it got the job done.</p><p>He spent way more nights than he should’ve snorting away a tin of prescriptions for “the sake of business.” It made work easier and their profits doubled with his help. He was the managing backbone of this partnership. Without his help in the store, Hobie was buying more old wrecks than he could handle and making little of the profit back. It was true that he was an old man just doing what old men do, but he needed to get things straight if they wanted to make money again after his fiasco of a scamming career.</p><p>He spent more time than he should’ve on it. Days tended to blur after a while, going from one to the next without so much as a notice. It wasn’t good for him in the least; even under his glasses you could see the red rims under his eyes. It was only when Theo was found typing on the store computer at 3am on a Saturday that Hobie even had half the mind to knock some sense into him, his concerned glances turning to irritation as he pulled his business partner to the side and told him to go home and get some sleep. In a daze, Theo tried to reason of course, but one hard look had him out the door and onto the street, one foot in front of the other as he headed towards his apartment that was thankfully not too far away.</p><p>He couldn’t exactly think in that state, but thankfully, the experience of being in much worse situations (all involving drugs of course), he was able to get back through the power of muscle memory. Fiddling with his key, he finally made it inside and slumped against his doorframe, legs giving up as he hit the carpet in one sweeping motion thus banging his head against the wood. It had started to throb a little, but he couldn’t seem to care, eyes already closing despite the chilly wind blowing at him into his very much open apartment.</p><p>The cold was nice, welcome even. There were never that many opportunities for him to enjoy the weather these days-didn’t have that time to stop and smell the roses. Right now though the wind was even cooling, his poor sides hot from sweat alleviated with the sharp frigid air. If he laid back now and closed his eyes, wouldn’t he fall into a nice slumber? If he laid back down and fell asleep, wouldn’t it just be perfect? Maybe he would never wake again.</p><p>He wasn’t in the right mind to think straight or think at all for that matter. Exhaustion was at its peak and he was at the point of no going back. If he was left alone to his own devices he would surely die. If he was left alone at all-who knows what would happen. But he was just that: alone. And he was left to his own devices, a man alone outside his flat door and really, who could even save him?</p><p>Then an arm shook him awake which he most definitely was hallucinating. It was a dream, one he could ignore, but then the thing-whatever it was-was shaking him urgently and he couldn’t ignore it no longer; it was just too insistent. Dazedly, he blinked back at whoever was shaking him and was met with the petrified face of Boris, wide-eyed in his peripheral vision.</p><p>“Potter! Are you alright?” He was digging into his neck with his fingers against his pulse and let out a sigh of relief when it was up to his standards. Shaggy, pale white Boris came all the way here just to see him. It was like a light switch went off in his head. He grinned manically at him, his vision swimming as he thought this most definitely must be some dream of his.</p><p>“Did you take something? Что я буду с тобой делать?” Boris muttered distantly in the back of his ear, concerned. He put his hand up to Theo’s head to check him, and cursed, fuming.</p><p>For some reason Theo had found this funny, ridiculously funny, so much so that he leaned in, laughing softly. The idea of Boris coming all this way for him was laughable at best and so he couldn’t help snickering at what his head had decided to make up. Wasn’t he supposed to be in Paris or London right about now? In Moscow chasing down a bunch of amateur gangsters and making deals with criminal syndicates in some abandoned parking lot? Trading drugs for money? Unloading cash into an undisclosed van? What was Boris doing here of all places? Theo could not fathom, but it was nice and he laughed, because he knew then he wouldn’t die, not now. Not ever. He was in New York City, New York City and not Ol’ Amsterdam.</p><p>Boris looked at him as if he was crazy and maybe he was, but it was too nice of a night not to laugh. He was alive and that was really all that mattered to him, so he leaned even closer, breath heavy and hot, and if he could, he would be pressed just right flush against him, moulding himself in until they were just one and the same. But he was lethargic and tired and hadn’t slept in a week, so all he was doing was rolling his head as his body dropped against Boris’s shoulder, eyes loopy while Boris just shook his head at the mess.</p><p>Boris recovered from the scene quickly however, quite used to seeing messy situations, and leveraged himself so that he had knees bent in a wide stance. Bending, he grabbed his legs and torso as Theo chuckled in his ear. “Okay. Up you go.” He conceded and tried to lift him.</p><p>It didn’t work.</p><p>Sighing, he pulled at one of Theo’s arms and yanked him, attempting to put his arm over his shoulder while Theo continued to laugh as he scowled at him. His arm flopped uselessly against his shoulder and he couldn’t get a good grip on him. He was flailing about, words incoherent and as slippery as an octopus-he just couldn’t get his way right now-as he mumbled something he thought was hilarious and Boris had just had enough when he huffed, shoving his flailing limbs to his sides before grabbing his legs and dragging him towards his room.</p><p>That didn’t stop Theo from squirming though, wheezing as he twisted about while Boris yelled at him in Russian. Once his lanky body was fully in the room, his legs were dropped in an unceremonious plop on the floor. Grumbling, Boris grabbed his torso, pulling him up on his feet. Thankfully, after laughing for so long, Theo was tired out, gasping as he got himself up. Boris let out a sigh of relief.</p><p>Boris then tugged him to his bed and he obeyed, watching Boris and smiling as he tutted over him. He checked his forehead again only to find him scorching hot, and quickly left the room for some remedy. He came back a second later with a cup of water in hand and telling him to take it and drink which he obeyed while Boris watched.</p><p>He had this frown on his face that Theo couldn’t take his eyes off of-Boris wasn’t supposed to frown-and looking at it only made him feel grim as well which was no fun at all. Boris was supposed to have fun. Boris was the epitome of fun. So taking his thumb, he swiped it against Boris’s lips, moving his lips to where they were supposed to be, a smile while Boris looked back at him, dumbstruck. Theo only grinned. The frown was off his face and his expression was much better now, eyes wide and lips parted. Boris traced his own mouth, shocked.</p><p>“You must be very sick.” He muttered.</p><p>Sighing, Theo continued to grin at him, flopping back down against the bed. He watched as Boris sat at the edge of his bed mumbling to himself. He was all dark and brooding, hunched over like some sort of creature of the night, stained and creeping at the corner of his vision in a way that made him think of shadows at the brink of twilight. Maybe he was a figure, a figment untouchable, but in these few moments of paths crossed, he really felt that he finally had something to look forward to.</p><p>He felt on top of the world.</p><p>~</p><p>When Theo woke, he had one of those pounding headaches you get from sleeping too long and this nagging sense that he forgot something. ‘So it was one of those nights, huh?’ He thought to himself. The pounding of his head was getting worse as he became more coherent and as much as it pains him, he should probably take the day off. Who knows what time it was, and knowing Hobie, he’d probably make him anyways. Thank god he decided to fuck himself over last night and not another. Gingerly rubbing his eyes, he felt around for his glasses and then found his phone in his back pocket. He took it out.</p><p>His phone was dead. He cursed. Pulling himself out of bed to go plug his phone in the kitchen, already annoyed at the day that he had woken up to. Just as he padded over to his den, he was met with the sight of his childhood friend laid out across his couch and idly typing on his phone. He startled, disbelieving, and as Boris looked up at him, he smiled, teeth flashing at him. He blinked rapidly at the picture before him.</p><p>“Ah, you’re awake.”</p><p>He blinked a couple more times, thinking surely he must be hallucinating. “What are you doing here?” He mumbled, tongue feeling way too large for his mouth.</p><p>A minute, a glance, and the man in question sighed audibly, throwing his head back against the arm of the couch, Adam’s apple bobbing as he stretched. Curling like a cat, Theo watched as he got comfortable on his couch, swallowing thickly as he took his sweet time. Eyes closed, Boris peaked a look at him and grinned maniacally (if he still had his original teeth, he’d guarantee that he’d see his canines peaking out like fangs, taunting him). He opened his eyes, smiling cheek to cheek.</p><p>“Wanted to see you.”</p><p>If this was any other situation, Theo probably would have lasted out, angry and exasperated over the fact that Boris thinks he could do just about whatever he wants and get away with it. If he was younger, he probably would have tackled him to the floor, screaming and punching his sides in fury. Maybe if he was tired enough, he’d get away with a huff or a glare. Theo was the epitome of cross when it came to anything Boris did, or said. Anything Boris really.</p><p>He looked away, emotion already forming in the back of his throat. Licking his lips, he cleared his throat with a cough as he tried to compose himself. He had to keep that feeling of relief to himself, otherwise he would surely do something stupid. Boris waited patiently knowing that Theo was being Theo, and in a moment of thankfulness, he was able to pull himself together.</p><p>“How did you get in?” He mumbled, because that was the only thought that came to his mind that he was willing to admit.</p><p>“Came in through door.” He laughed, as it was obvious. “You were there, halfway through your apartment and looking like death, so I brought you in.”</p><p>He sighed, being embarrassed of it all and feeling daft. Here Boris had found him once again being a dumbass and Boris “happening to be nearby,” had done his job as a friend to put him in his place, watching over him like when he blacked out and even being sensible enough to stay the night to make sure that he wouldn’t go kaput. He thought that was it. That was all there was to it, and as his emotions deflated and Boris turned stoic he realized: he was wrong. Because in Boris’s eyes he could tell that there was more and that the story hadn’t ended, not by a long shot.</p><p>His face broke and his smile shifted, his eyes clouding as he clenched his jaw, face taut. It felt like only in the most dire of situations, in the coldest in hardest of cases when they felt like only strangers and life became unfamiliar that his demeanor seemed to shift to that of someone where the chance of life or death was just a Wednesday. But this time it didn’t feel like that. This time it felt different.</p><p>“Thought you OD’ed.”</p><p>Theo looked at him, startled, and Boris’s face twisted, one of grief and despair and not at all like the hard shell that he was trying to put over. Theo tried to decipher that look, hold it close to his attention, but the flash of whatever it was was gone as soon as it came.</p><p>It was almost as if it had never been real.</p><p>In a second, Boris was jumping out of his seat, complaining of Theo’s lack of food and the time it took him to get up, and slapping his back, hard, he herded him to his own kitchen contrary to his own protests. It was just like Boris to rush to the next topic, ignoring the present and talking about nothing, as if nothing really could have happened. But it was not like he was any better. He didn’t even feel chilled over the fact that it could’ve happened; he could have died. It was simply a thought in passing, something that he knew could lead to eventuality, but was never spoken aloud. It wasn’t worth the words. And like a fool he was and was always going to be, he let Boris drag him on, lead, pretend that that nothing could’ve been something. Because from what he’s learned but never left from his teens was it was always better to just be quiet.</p><p>~</p><p>They spent a good portion of the morning attempting to cook something decent enough that Boris would be satisfied and Theo wouldn’t have the gnawing feeling of anxiety eating at his insides at the thought of looking like a fool with no semblance of security (really, a grown man should cook in his own home). But Boris didn’t care. He only wanted to search for recipes and attempt to make the most extravagant dessert he could find. Apparently to him those were pancakes.</p><p>He should’ve known it would end in a mess.</p><p>Boris had somehow gotten the wise idea to go grocery shopping for sugary sweets of all things because Theo’s pantry “looked sad.” Well, they had gotten the sugar (chocolate chips, whipped cream, syrup), all of which Theo hasn’t eaten in years and Boris looked like he hadn’t eaten in a year (not even sugar; anything at all really).. So sighing, Theo had let him take charge of this mess, stirring ingredients in a small bowl and getting his floor wet in the process. He was stirring too much and too roughly, with too much gusto for what he was making to really be that good (he remembered what his mother told him about over-stirring) and it bothered him. The more he looked at the floor, the more urgent it felt to take over, do a better job and eventually Theo couldn’t take it anymore so he pulled the bowl out of Boris’s hands (much to his protests), and started the burner.</p><p>Annoyed, Boris had started complaining, irritated with his actions, but Theo just said “I know what I’m doing.” and that shut him for a good while. Once at medium temperature, he put on a couple pads of butter and watched till melted. Then, he was pouring batter. Boris was watching him curiously, peering over his shoulder and almost making him spill the bowl.</p><p>“You still cook.” He said.</p><p>He stopped for a minute, his mouth suddenly dry. He had never talked about this to him back then, trying to keep from sounding like a sap all the damn time whenever things got like this. It was just him at the pan and Boris kicking the counter as he looked back at him back then, a time where he was doing all to forget, and ignore, and distract. Distraction was his solitude. Boris was always the best for distraction, back then when he needed something, anything to rid his pounding thoughts, but now Boris was curious and waiting for him, attentive, shockingly attentive, and if he didn’t say anything now he would surely look like a fool.</p><p>“My mother…” He said he began and winced because he knew his voice was cracking and he coughed to try to rid the sound. “...liked them on Saturdays. When I was a kid. Made them for her birthday once.” He admitted.</p><p>Boris didn’t say anything to that, only nodding, thoughtful and as Theo tried to get back to what he was doing he suddenly remembered something he wanted to do. Something that at that moment felt strangely important to him.</p><p>There was one thing that Theo insisted on buying when they went to the grocery store. One thing. On the way to check out in a moment of “Oh, what the hell.” he stopped, giving their basket to Boris, sped-walked to the produce section. Spotting a little carton of blueberries, he took it and sprinted back to Boris just as he was checking out. It was a bit of an out-of-character kind of decision for him and he was met with a raised eyebrow, but if anything, adulthood had taught him that age could really change a person, and sometimes whims became different destinies.</p><p>So he told Boris to wash the blueberries, and giving back the fresh carton doused in water, he did. Then Theo sprinkled a few into the batter right as he was about to flip. “It tasted better that way.” that voice in his head told him and he could almost swear he could hear his mother’s voice in the distance, laughing in their little den as he tried to concentrate and make them himself without any help. There was one thing that that Italian guy from Social Services didn’t know back then; the one that was questioning him like his life depended on it-which it did. Back then: it was blueberry pancakes that she made.</p><p>It was just about that time where he needed to scrape them off the pan, which he did with a quick turn of the wrist. They almost made him smile and looking at those golden brown edges almost made him wish he was eleven again, or ten-eight, seven, six, five; any age that would let him remember the taste of a good pancake and her delight as he ate them. But being so old, damaged so long, these ones would only make him remember something that he couldn’t have. So he asked Boris to bring him the chocolate chips and got to work making a mountain of them big enough to touch the sky.</p><p>Eventually they ran out of batter but there was enough for Boris to be satisfied; a tall stack of chocolate chip pancakes coming right his way. He looked giddy almost, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he rocked back and forth in anticipation. Taking the entire plate, he sat down at his place at the table and waited for Theo with bated breath. They had used another plate for the chocolate ones because otherwise “they would contaminate each other” as Boris said. Whatever that means. Theo was just happy to be done with it. The pressure from cooking for another person was exhausting.</p><p>Just as he sat down to watch the horror unfold of Boris and his abominable eating skills, the man in question peered at him questionably, staring. Somehow, he was caught off guard at this, but he should’ve. He just assumed he would eat his share and be on his merry way. Was it too much to assume that Boris would leave him to his own devices?</p><p>It probably was.</p><p>It wasn’t like Boris to give him a break.</p><p>“Why aren’t you eating?”</p><p>He blinked, surprised, but Boris was unamused, lips pursing into a frown.</p><p>“I’m not hungry.” He said.</p><p>Boris couldn’t take that as an answer. He stabbed his fork into a pancake, almost vehemently and stared. “Not hungry? With all those starving children?”</p><p>Theo looked back at him, confused. “Starving-”</p><p>“Yes, the children! In Africa and places! Me, when I was a child!” He pointed at himself in emphasis.</p><p>“I don’t really think-”</p><p>“Have you for shame?” He interrupted again and Theo could feel his anger rising. Boris was looking at him, sternly of all things and with his hands on his hips as if he was chastising a child. He wasn’t a child.</p><p>“I can decide not to eat in my own home! I don’t need to listen to you about this!” He argued, feeling put out. He didn’t need this right now. He didn’t need Boris forcing him to eat.</p><p>“You made those. Special.” He reasoned. “You don’t tell me that there you were going to take them to the garbage, no? And leave to rot?”</p><p>He looked at the two pancakes he made, sitting on the counter and thought about it. It was just a spur of the moment kind of thing, really not all that well thought-out. And really, he was always thinking things out. The pros and cons; consequences of the measly coffee he had had two hours ago. They were there, cooling right next to the stovetop, and it was feeling like such a waste right now.</p><p>And Boris was right.</p><p>So, sighing, he picked up the plate, sat back down and was met face to face with a beaming Boris with a look that was going to lay wake to his senses. One moment, two, and then Boris turned back his attention to his pancakes, readying his plate with a mountain of whipped cream and a puddle of syrup. Somewhere under all that was about three pads of butter and if you looked closely you can just see the pancakes before they all but disappeared in that mess of goo.</p><p>Theo found it best to look away.</p><p>With Boris’s attention fixed back on that atrocity he called breakfast, Theo was able to peak at his own, the first he’s probably had in years, and felt a nervous thrum flit through his body. It looked so sweet as it was already, even without all that syrup and the cream, and he couldn’t help but feeling that little telltale that if he ate just a bite, he was going to hurl.</p><p>But for some reason, he had this feeling that he had to do this. Boris wasn’t even paying attention anymore, eating with the ferocity of a rabid animal as he chewed his way through sugar and carbs. It was disgusting, but somehow endearing at the same time.</p><p>He looked at his plate in the same detest he had had for years now at the thought of such childish, fatty foods. It made him queasy, uneasy, afraid of a cake, of butter, sugar and syrupy fruit. It wasn’t as if he had to do it. No one was exactly forcing him (Boris was coaxing him). He didn’t have to. He really didn’t have to.</p><p>But he felt like he had to. There was a fresh memory in his his of long ago that was starting to surface; when the kitchen was sunny and bright and he was rubbing his eyes from sleep; when the smell of butter and batter would would drift throughout the apartment in a smog; when he would wake up to the sound of his mother singing along to the radio; when he was still deserving of the name Puppy.</p><p>He took a bite.</p><p>~</p><p>For some reason when breakfast was over and the day had officially begun, Boris was still there. Boris was still there, in his home, and the fact that he was tangible past the early morn was enough to send him reeling. It was as if he wasn’t simply fantasy anymore, something mystical like a unicorn in the mists. No, he was a man. A man that he knew for years and was leaning against his kitchen counter as he watched him sweep his floor while commenting about the weather, as if the situation was already nauseatingly mundane enough.</p><p>If anything, the action stirred him to work harder for he didn’t have the guts to talk about the elephant in the room. Hell, when did he ever have the guts in the first place? It was laughable, his cowardice. But he couldn’t bring him to do it. What was the point of questioning a good thing when as soon as it said aloud, it would all go away? He was too scared to risk that. It wasn’t worth the pain.</p><p>So he scrubbed his flat clean like no other time before while Boris watched, filling the air with talk and light as he willed away any thoughts of impermanence. Boris wasn’t helping-Boris didn’t exactly help with these kinds of things; he was never the cleanest. But that didn’t matter to him. Just him, there, and now, for one more time, for once of a handful times more was enough to keep him sated.</p><p>After a while he lost track of what Boris was saying (sometimes it didn’t matter what he said) and in a trance, he was cleaning until he was shook and was met with a raised voice and a tap, tap, tapping on his shoulder.</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>He looked up.</p><p>Boris was peering at him exasperated. It looked like whatever he was spouting on about must have been really important to him because he was getting all huffy and puffy in his face, and if he didn’t back away soon, they were going to knock into each other.</p><p>“Potter, don’t you pay attention to anything?” He said, fuming.</p><p>Theo’s mind was on the edge of fuzzing, but he knew he had to say something. He really wasn’t in a mood for a fight, and Boris seemed to take this particularity personal, so sighing, he huffed out a ‘what’ and hoped to fuck it wasn’t some meaningless baseless story.</p><p>“I said I am staying. I live in New York now.”</p><p>‘What?’</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Что я буду с тобой делать? (Ch-to ya Bah-du s aboi de-lat?) - What am I going to do with you?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Happy?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“What do you mean you live in New York now?”</p><p>	“Exactly what you say: I live here now.”</p><p>	It took a second for Theo to figure out what that meant. A first, a second look before his sincerity broke through to him and he looked at the other, aghast. ‘It wasn’t-it couldn’t-’ The more that Theo could feel himself inwardly freaking out, the more exasperated Boris began to seem as shook his head and tutted to thin air before suddenly grabbing his shoulders, forcing his face to look down at him. He almost pulled away, pannick setting in, but he stayed put, calming down as he focused on Boris’s face, serious.</p><p>	“I am living here too. In your city. No more travel.” He enunciated this slowly, as if Theo was the one who wasn’t native to the language. Normally he would be irritated at this, but mostly he was still in shock. </p><p>	He finally found the sense to pull himself away. </p><p>“Not just for some scheme of yours?” He wouldn’t put it past Boris to stay in one place or another for a time to satisfy some end-goal he had. He was just never in a place for that long. It wasn’t in his blood. </p><p>	Boris just sighed to that and pinched the bridge of his nose, almost miffed. “No, Potter. I am staying for good. I sold my apartment in Warsaw.” He said seriously. </p><p>	If anything, his eyes grew wider, almost backing up into a wall such an admittance. Boris looked unamused.</p><p>	“Honestly! You look to me as if I grew second head!” </p><p>	Theo almost bit back that he practically did, but held his tongue. He had too many questions and if he wanted them answered, he had to be smart about this. </p><p>	“Where are you staying?” He began. </p><p>	“Brooklyn.”</p><p>	“Working?”</p><p>	A beat and then- “Yes.”</p><p>	He gulped down the lump he felt a lump forming in his throat. He didn’t need more information on that. </p><p>Biting his lip in thought, he struggled with this set of news, unsure of what to say, even how to act. It felt unheard of, unnatural even, to him. Maybe it was too much for them to be in the same space for too long; maybe it was too much for him. He’s thought about it before, hell, he planned it, once, long ago. Them laughing in the city, causing chaos as kids; they’d go to all the big Russian scenes, going to every shop and marketplace; steal from the local corner stores; smoke cigarettes after school. They would be horrible, no good, dirty, ratty, kids. But they’d have each other. </p><p>And that never happened. </p><p>The thought of them being able to meet like this, consistency, and not over a year or ten’s passing was a luxury he didn’t know he would ever have. It was a dream come true. Too perfect. Too nice. It didn’t seem like it was meant for them. The thought of Boris always being thousands of miles away always eluded him. There was always that assurance there would never be. He was pessimistic at heart after all. </p><p>Could he ever let himself believe it?</p><p>“You’re staying in the city?” </p><p>Boris pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, hard, as if willing himself not to get violent. Theo knew he should shut up right about now. But he couldn’t. If he made Boris angry, fine then. He’s been angry too. Boris never followed him then and yes he was over that now, but there have been plenty of reasons to be angry at Boris before. </p><p>And he didn’t want this to be one of them. </p><p>But Boris only sighed, almost tired. He didn’t look like he had gotten much sleep as he took a good look at him, eyes dark and brooding with purple bags. It seemed like they just never were the type to catch a break and clearly it was showing on Boris now. He never thought anything could ever take so much out of him, but here he was, looking at an older version of his friend, just as put-out as he was. </p><p> “Yes, I am staying in your city.” He mumbled. </p><p>Theo still wasn’t sure what to think of it, the possibilities of what this meant endless to him. He looked in wonder at him then, two men: one fascinated and the other expasserated as they stared at each other with what felt like minutes until Theo had looked away hurriedly. There was certain finality to the admittance, an unspoken rule that he shouldn’t ask any more of him and Boris would do the same for him. </p><p>“Alright then.”</p><p>And then he moved, so that he was away from the wall and thought about what he could do now that the floors were cleaned and the kitchen was all up in order. He supposed he could start on his laundry but really he didn’t have a big enough load to start a wash and start pressing- Well maybe he could dust (What was there to dust though? He didn’t have anything material of his). He supposed the trash could be taken out or what if-</p><p>	“Are you happy?” Boris asked suddenly. </p><p>	Spooked, Theo looked at him as Boris only stared back, almost pleading. He had asked him this before, way back when before their big adventure, and back then, not knowing what to say, he avoided the question or outright admitted that he wasn’t because despite the need to prove something to Boris, despite the want to please him: he couldn’t lie to him. </p><p>	“What do you mean?” He asked.</p><p>	Boris looked abashed by this and for a moment, he almost looked scared for asking, staring at the floor for a moment but then turning towards him, holding his ground. He bit his lip and as Theo waited for him to pull himself together, he was reminded of when he learned about what really happened with The Goldfinch. It almost made him nervous. </p><p>	“That I-” Boris began and then stopped himself. Theo was getting worried that he would cry again and he wouldn’t know how to react to that. He bit his lip again. “-that I am here now? Makes you better?” He turned away, jittery, hopping in place.</p><p>	Did it make him better? That was a loaded question. On one hand it was nice to know that he would be around, but on the other-could he trust himself to be okay? </p><p>	Theo wasn’t good, by no means okay in any regard. He was pulling his hair by the scalp at the thought of all the things he needed to pay at this point. Life was hard and depressants never worked for him. He was living on coffee and eggs and pills, practically skeletal. The only thing that was putting any weight on his bones was the copious amounts of alcohol that he kept stock, bloating his figure to something manageable. He was scared and anxious all the time, afraid to talk to the people he cared about and desperately seeking approval by someone, someone older than him to tell him he was doing a good job. Hobie, Mrs. Barbour… He was a mess in all regards. </p><p>	He was scared. Absolutely terrified. On one hand he wanted to set things right and make a difference and all of that bullshit that comes into making amends and bettering your life. He wasn't doing it for everyone; he was doing it for him too. He thought that if he achieved some semblance, that everything would be fine. He was counting on this end goal of achievement and self-value to make everything that he had done up till now worth it. He wasn’t a no-good, at least that’s what he had told himself. Little by little; day by day. </p><p>	But it didn’t feel like him anymore. </p><p>	Guess that’s what happens when there’s nothing to steal yourself. There’s an anchor that’s keeping you from your goals and your dreams that’s tying you to shore and keeping you from floating away and never making it back and while it’s an assurance, it’s also a bodily torture. You can’t move. You can’t swim away. Friends, work, obligations, expectations-it can keep you tethered. And sometimes it felt like that to Theo. Sometimes it really did. </p><p>	His support was fragmented, all across the world or under the sea. Between cities and social standings and the grave beyond. No network; anchor heavy; tether encompassing. He didn’t know what he was doing at this point. Were things ever going to get better? </p><p>	Things maybe weren't as bad with Boris around. He could relax, a little at least. And no matter how encompassing Boris’s personality was to his livelihood, no matter how much he believed he had to straighten up and he had no time for people, things, life’s pleasantries-he had time for Boris. Or more so he made time for Boris. He could tell himself that Boris would push him to do what he wanted all he wants, but at the end of the day he let him. And that wasn’t only because he was a coward.</p><p>	“I’m-” He couldn’t find the words for it. He wasn’t at his greatest. He hasn’t been great for a long time. Even with Boris. He was probably at his worst if he was being honest with himself. He knew that. Boris knew that. But somehow here they were, always finding each other (more so Boris finding him) and they worked, for those few spare moments they did, despite how chaotic, how incredibly insane they both were with each other. Theo couldn’t think straight with him around and it almost seemed that Boris refused to think at all. </p><p>	But he knew better. Boris had plans or more so inklings of them: that chaotic Slavic ego of his and spontaneity to make things work and get everyone on his side. It was intoxicating how far he could pull you in before you can’t come back out again. He supposed that’s how he lived so long; everyone liked him too much to see him go. He was that lucky star, always smiling and running about with a manic need to satisfy. He wanted to be happy; he wanted everyone to be happy. When he thought about it, he was obsessed with the concept. So maybe that was why he was always asking him. </p><p>	He never liked to disappoint Boris. It felt too awful to, but when he felt lonely and bitter, a dark sadistic part of himself relished in it. Only he didn’t have that part of himself anymore. Maybe it just about disappeared by now. He was too tired, too weary to hold grudges anymore. And he couldn’t lie to him. </p><p>	It would hurt too much.</p><p>So with a heavy heart, he would have to look at Boris and tell him no. He would have to tell him and it would hurt. His bright eyes would waver; his shoulders would slump; that desperation would cool to despair and freeze the most fierce and lively night sky. It was like he was the bad guy. He always found himself being the one to disappoint. Could he just get on with life already? Could he just push himself to be normal? He doesn’t think he could. </p><p>“It’s not your fault.” </p><p>There. He said it. Now he would be at fault. How could he be the bad guy? Wasn’t Boris the one who was a criminal? Ironic. It was almost laughable. Surely Boris would be disappointed in him, right? If he’d look at him now, he’d see the visage in his mind of him deflated, a sorry sight to behold.</p><p>He didn’t dare look. </p><p>“It’s okay. I’m here now.”</p><p>And when he looked back, Boris was smiling back at him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Work Buddy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>He should have known that having Boris around all the time would spur some difficulty. Having your best friend around no matter the circumstance should be a treat, a blessing, but more often not, it felt like the beginnings of a stupendous curse. It wasn’t his fault really, no. It was his own for that matter; him and his bleeding heart. He couldn’t say no. He couldn’t push him off. He couldn’t take a raincheck for his life and it was killing him because he has been telling him for the life of him that he just can’t say no because Boris would never take no for an answer, but it was all him. All him. He could never refuse him. </p><p>Boris had taken to finding him in the most inconvenient of times, out of nowhere and without warning, stopping in the middle of the street and then running over to him, car door open and him coming towards him with a grin and an offer to get fucked. It was a tempting offer, every single time it was tempting, which it was why he could never find it in himself to refuse.</p><p>It probably wasn’t the best after-work habit. </p><p>It was worrying. He had finally managed to produce enough for the store’s finances, scrounging for profit and doubled over in death from lack of food and basic necessities-it was a miracle he was able to pay his rent-but he really should be doing more to secure their funds. He needed to be working, all the time, and repay what he needed to. Security. Security is what they needed. </p><p>So why was he going out after daybreak every week to have a drink instead of staying in after hours? </p><p>He needed to get his act together. He needed to tell Boris this. He should tell Boris this. They weren’t little kids anymore. He had a job (Boris had a job too, but he didn’t want to think about that). It was a matter of self-preservation. He should be able to get back to work without this man breathing down his neck or chasing him down 5th Avenue. He had enough hardships. </p><p>He kept thinking about this just cleaning up shop and lo and behold, the bastard barged in, merry and shit as he jumped around excitedly just as he spotted him. They weren’t even open yet, just making it breathable enough that the customers could look around comfortably, what with all the dust about and still be able to make a sale. He wasn’t going to change his tactics now. He was a sell-out, he knew, but what did that fucking matter right now?</p><p>“Potter!”</p><p>Potter this; Potter that. The man didn’t even bother to watch his broom, just jumped him, encasing him in a hug, broom and all. It was puncturing his chest and highly uncomfortable, but he wasn’t about to ruin Boris’s fun. He liked the affection. </p><p>God, he was such a pushover. </p><p>When Boris finally let him go, he looked at him pleasantly then turned towards the store, curious. He had this calculating look on his face as he peered from one piece to another, rubbing against the edges and drumming his fingers about. He inspected his hand curiously as he rubbed the dust between two fingers and peered over at him. He was found out. </p><p>“How’s store? You sell anything yet?”</p><p>He looked away. </p><p>“Boris, we’re not even open yet.” </p><p>Boris chose to ignore him, just casually lounged between the furniture, leaning back between two pieces and not seeming to mind one bit that he was probably getting himself filthy. You would think that someone with morbid carelessness would have a limit to their number of discretions, but that didn’t seem to fit his vocabulary. If Boris had a cigarette right now, he would probably light up right now, lounging between priceless works and his own ire. </p><p>The jerk. </p><p>“What do you want, Boris? He asked, aggravated. </p><p>“What? I cannot see a friend without reason now?”</p><p>He gave him a look. The bastard had decided to lean and close his eyes, nice and comfy between thousands of dollars and if he wasn’t careful now, he had the threat of his fist in his face, cordiality be damned. Hobie wasn’t here. He was the boss too. He can do what he wants. Even better, he knew the guy, so it was personal. If he thinks he can get away-</p><p>“I can tell what you’re thinking now.” Theo looked back at him, miffed that he didn’t even bother opening his eyes. He had half a mind to do what he wills. </p><p>“Yeah? What’s that?”</p><p>“You’re mad about your furniture.”</p><p>Theo almost laughed. “Look who’s self-aware.”</p><p>“Self-a-what?” Boris peeked a look at him, curious. </p><p>“Nevermind.”</p><p>Boris leaned back again, closing his and listening as Theo finished his meager job of sweeping the floor. He could hear the gruff heavings of irritation subsiding and so he got himself comfortable in the warmth of the oakwood and wicker. Theo wasn’t having that though so as soon as he finished sweeping, he walked over to him and poked him, hard in the shoulder to get his attention. </p><p>“Get off.”</p><p>He opened his eyes with the gall to be annoyed. “Why?”</p><p>“You know why.” He bit back. </p><p>“But it’s comfortable.”</p><p>“Yeah, too bad. I’m opening soon.”</p><p>One glare was enough to do the job. He wiped his jacket as he harrumphed, grumpy. “You’re no fun.” He pouted. </p><p>“I’m an adult, Boris. I don’t have fun.”</p><p>“Shame.”</p><p>And what could Theo say to that but continue cleaning and setting up the cash desk for the day. He didn’t have to answer to anything. Boris never had a normal job in his life. He didn’t understand. He should know by now that not everyone can’t do everything they want. People had lives to live; food to put on the table; there was no choice about what they could and couldn’t do; no one could do anything about it. </p><p>He thought that would be the end of it. Boris knew when not to fight-he had to to survive. Perhaps he finally learned by now that it was like this. After all, if there was anyone that knew that it was a dog-eat-dog world it was him. You couldn’t live in his world without knowing that. </p><p>But maybe he was wrong because Boris was silent for once, contemplating something, and just when he thought it was about something stupid, he piped up in rhe middle of the silence, making him stand on-end. He should really get used to that. Boris had always been a living surprise attack. </p><p>“You should have fun.” He said, like he could stop whatever he was doing and just leave whenever. He wasn’t like him. His obligations were here. His hands were tied. Why couldn’t he understand that? </p><p>“Well, I’ve had your fun these days. I just can’t afford fun right now.” He stated. </p><p>“Why?” And Boris was actually confused by this from what he could tell. Didn’t he know him better than anyone? “You got money from job.”</p><p>Of course he didn’t get this. </p><p>He sighed, knowing this was going to take awhile. “I had to pay back the debt, Boris. With the fakes. Paid the bills. I owe Hobie.”</p><p>He couldn’t do whatever he wanted. And now would be high time to tell Boris that. He couldn’t be playing games everyday with him. It wasn’t his life. It was never meant for him. He really, really, wanted him to understand that. He didn’t realize till now how much he wanted him to understand this, but he did. He wanted him to understand. </p><p>“But look at your face.” He said.</p><p>Boris moved closer to study him and the closer he got, the more alarmed he became. He almost backed up into the wall, but out of fear of looking like a fool, he remained where he was.. He was facing him head-on, hand outstretching for a moment before he pulled back, holding his arm in place. </p><p>“Look at your face. Dark circles, yes? No food. Is no good.” He pointed at his own eyes in emphasis to get the point across. There wasn’t much room to move about, what with them being so close to each other (Boris’s fault), but at least the height difference made it manageable. He wouldn’t be surprised if Boris ended up poking him in the eye. </p><p>“It happens.” He mumbled. It wasn’t a big deal, anyhow. Everyone their age was tired. Things happened. People worked. That’s just how life was. Boris didn’t see it like that however, and almost looked scared, watching his eyes closely as they shifted uneasily. He didn’t like all the attention. </p><p>“You need a break.” Boris insisted. </p><p>“I’ve had enough breaks.” Theo argued and if he could, he would probably shove him away. But he couldn’t and he knew it, so he kept himself busy by squeezing his hand into a fist. He knew he was fucked up, but he couldn’t- he didn’t. He was shaking. </p><p>“No, you need a break. Spend time. Outside of this.”</p><p>He motioned to “this” as if it wasn’t his world, a home away from home. It was his livelihood, his childhood. He couldn’t throw it all away for something. He couldn’t relax and do whatever. Not now. Not maybe ever. He was a part of this place. He couldn’t leave it. How could he right now? When he was needed? When he needed to prove himself?</p><p>His arms were fidgeting and he looked away, hurt that was being like this, now, and because of Boris. Cause of himself really. Why couldn’t he ever keep his cool? Why couldn’t he just calm down? He was an adult. He should be able to handle himself. Was it fruitless to even try at this point? Can he just- Will he ever bear it? </p><p>Boris put his hands on his shoulders and it almost calmed him down. What a waste. He was supposed to be opening soon. He couldn’t deal with customers like this. How embarrassing. People could see. If they just looked through the window-</p><p>If they could just see them now....</p><p>“You can’t spend all your time here.”</p><p>~</p><p>Boris was right and he hated him for it. It was stupid but he hated him for it. How could he just walk around being right and self-assured when he was such a fucking dumbass? It wasn’t fair. Why did he have to be the one in pain, suffering? It was unbearable the thought that he couldn’t control himself but Boris could? Boris who had the same type of life he had, but who just came up the other end smiling. He was positive, uplifting, even consoling, the only normal one of the two (if normal was the word); he lived amongst the people as a person, or a shadow more like, blending with the crowds and going about his merry way. </p><p>There was no way in hell he could ever be an international criminal like him. </p><p>He didn’t have the balls. </p><p>If he could learn to work up the courage to stop hiding in the shadow, stop shaking and fucking face it, face whatever was actually bothering him instead of pretending it wasn’t there- well, fuck. Wouldn’t that be swell? </p><p>“You’re not talking.” Boris had commented. They were at a bar like any other night before that and like any other time before, Theo was dragged there, right after work. He couldn’t squirm out of that grip if he could. It was like iron, but maybe that was what he himself was insisting on in the situation. </p><p>This is why he needed to learn to put his foot down once in a while. </p><p>“Nothing to talk about.” He said into his drink. </p><p>However Boris was not convinced. Leaning over the table in this crowded bar, he laughed as if it was the funniest thing in the world. It just about killed him inside the ludicrousy of it all as his ass of best friend was heaving into his side. When he was done laughing, he looked up at him, laughed some more, the boisterous guffaws turning into soft chuckles as he looked at him amusedly. He tried not to glare at him, but he couldn’t help it. He was too much of a fucking ass not to.  </p><p> “You with the jokes.” It wasn’t a joke but he wasn’t about to argue about it. “There is always something to talk about.” Boris began and he almost resisted the notion but thought it was better to humor the man than to try to talk him out of it. It’s not like he would understand. </p><p>Boris was still looking at him with these starstruck eyes that were telling him things and as he leaned over the table. He caught a whiff of whiskey off him as he smirked with that stupid evil glint in his eye. “Come on, tell me stories. About the redhead or the blonde one.”</p><p>He wasn’t one to try to ruin Boris’s fun but even he had limits. It was the first time he had asked anything about them in a while and while they tended never to stray towards the more intimate topics, the thought of telling Boris, everything that had happened made him nauseated in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time since his first drink and the hurling episode that followed. </p><p>“That’s not a good idea, Boris.” He told him. He knew that refusing would result in a skirmish and was ready for the inevitable. It’s not like Boris was ever ready to be told no. </p><p>“Oh, it’s no big deal.” He said, waving him off. He was persistent, as per usual, probably getting his rocks off at making him squirm. “Tell me all the good parts.” His words felt particularly malicious as he got that mischievous look in his eye. </p><p>Theo took a drink to get his mind off of it. </p><p>“I really don’t think that’s a good idea.” He mumbled.</p><p>“Fine. Fine. I will go first.” </p><p>But Theo didn’t want Boris to go first. Theo didn’t want Boris to go at all. He didn’t need to hear this. He didn’t want to hear this, but here was Boris, spilling his guts out about the conquest of some woman in some fabulous city thousands of miles away, where the lights burned all night and he wasn’t there to witness. Like he wanted to witness at all. </p><p>“So I went back to her apartment and it was dark. The lights were off and the woman wouldn’t turn them. We were kissing at the door and she led me to her room, but instead of bed, she pushed me to the floor. Wouldn’t let me go on the bed. Something about “saving it.” Though my god was she a good fuck. The way she moved down on me it was like she was magic and-  </p><p>“Boris.” </p><p>He was getting sick just listening to it. He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to know. These great escapades didn’t mean anything to him, only making him remember his problems all the more and it was exhausting how much he wanted to forget everything. They were at a bar anyways. That’s what bars were for. Not for this. Not for this. </p><p>“Boris.”</p><p>Boris was really getting into it, almost too into it, seeming to relish in every detail. He looked almost feral, pleasured by the reminiscence of the times and all the glory that it was. He wasn’t really listening now, but he could tell by the self-satisfaction he was giving off that it was about something incredibly lewd and disgusting. Maybe he could make a quick getaway if he played it smart, said he had to work early. Something. But then Boris’s voice was reaching his ears and he couldn’t help but hang on to every word. Just because he simply couldn’t not listen. He was trapped.</p><p>“She knew how to get a man going. You should have seen her tits. It was dark but before, in the light of the bar-magnificent. They were practically hanging out of her dress. And so soft. She knew what was doing, I will tell you that. That woman in the morning left me with a blow and some pills. What a show woman. She-”</p><p>The blood was rushing to his ears and he couldn’t hear anything anymore, only this and that and tits and fucking anf he was sick of it. Sick of it. Couldn’t he have a nice night to wallow in his own self-pity for once, without having to resort to tactics to get him to just shut up about something he couldn’t handle right now. He wasn’t getting any these days-too busy, and it was just painful hearing about it right now, about anything short of a conquest and something to boast about. His life was already as fucked up as it is. Leave his love life out of it, thanks. </p><p>“Boris!”</p><p>He didn’t mean to get that loud. </p><p>Hoping that no one was staring, he looked down at the table fervently hunched over, the big man he was, because he couldn’t take it. He couldn’t take the attention. ‘Please don’t be looking.’ He pleaded to the crowd. He didn’t want to check. </p><p>“Sorry?”</p><p>Boris was talking to him. </p><p>Like the situation couldn’t get any worse. </p><p>“Please. Don’t.”</p><p>He was hoping Boris wouldn’t push it. ‘Take the hint. Take the hint.’ He pleaded to thin air. Boris must be staring at him right now. It couldn’t get any worse now, could it? The room felt hotter somehow the more he squirmed in his seat under such a gaze. </p><p>“Fine. Fine.” Boris relented. </p><p>Surprised, Theo looked up to see Boris leaning back in his seat, unfazed at the whole ordeal and as he looked up, he saw that no one was looking at them. ‘No one cares.’ They were just part of the crowd, part of their own conversations and not looking at the lunatic who yelled in the bar. It must have happened more than he thought. He was suddenly feeling stupid for feeling so self-conscious and if possible, he sunk into his chair further. He could just never catch a break. </p><p>“Sorry.” He mumbled. </p><p>“Sorry?” Boris looked up at him. </p><p>He reddened significantly, unsure of what to say. If Boris could just take the hint, maybe they have acted like nothing happened, but this was Boris so it was not as if he could get away with something like this. No, he needed his explanations and wouldn’t take no for an answer. He sighed. It always had to turn out like this.  </p><p>“Why you sorry?” Boris asked. </p><p>He took a swig of his drink (because otherwise he couldn’t do it) and decided oh, what the hell. He already had a few drinks in him, but he supposed that what people said was always true: liquid courage right? He set the glass down. “I don’t know. Sometimes I feel like I’m too much, you know? Can’t think straight. Can’t talk like you.” He laughed bitterly, caught up in the burn of the liquid and how wired up it was making him feel. “It’s painful sometimes Boris.”</p><p>Was the alcohol finally getting to him? Maybe. But he feels like he can continue now if he kept doing this. So he finished his drink and held up his hand for another. Might as well go for it when he was already ahead. He had around five shots about now. This was nothing for him what with being an alcoholic and all. He was the jack of all trades in bad habits: forever failing. </p><p>“It’s shit, you know.” He said as he slammed his glass onto the table. “I can’t do shit for myself. And I cannot do all these things because my mind tells me I can’t. Stupid nerves or whatever. And I’m getting nothing, absolutely nothing from anyone because I’m an idiot and can’t help from making myself make mistake after mistake.” </p><p>A filled glass got back to him and he grabbed it as soon as it hit the table. He took it down as a shot and it felt absolutely wonderful as he sat there and recanted his tale. Boris was sitting with rapt attention which did wonders to his nerves and as he relished in it, he couldn’t help but continue. </p><p>“My engagement failed.” He admitted. “It was all really me, really. Can’t blame you for that. “I was the one who ignored her while I was paying back for all those antiques.” He doesn’t even recall if he told him about this. “I was a suck-up and when I decided to be my own man and fix things, she had enough when she was the one who wanted me.” He smiled into his drink sadly. “She was the one that cheated on me, but when I was too much for her she finally left. Couldn’t wait the time to please her mother anymore.”</p><p>He got quiet after that, reflecting over his own thoughts on it and as his eyes got misty and had gotten this faraway look in his eye, Boris tapped him, adamant for his attention. It took him a moment to come back, but when he did Boris was looking concerned for him, eyes misty. If he had less drinks in him, he would have been concerned but the alcohol in his system was wildly effective in keeping him docile, attentive as Boris looked at him with wide eyes pleading for him to pay attention. </p><p>“Theo?” He managed to choke out. </p><p>When did he start to make that expression?</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>Boris shifted uneasily, all jitters, and it made him think maybe he could be less than fire; maybe he was just human. Because his expression said it all; he was just as broken as he was. He suddenly felt bad for saying anything at all, should have been closed up, tight-lipped. Boris wasn’t made to be as sad as he was. </p><p>But Boris didn’t seem to think that. He seemed to see a reason to take him all in and drag him to whatever hotspot he had recently found (tourist), somehow knowing everything and everyone there (maybe not so much a tourist; he knew some place even <em> he </em> didn’t know about). Perhaps he was just that likeable. Perhaps he really did keep tabs on everything and everyone. He didn’t know anymore. Maybe Boris really was that sneaky. </p><p>Maybe he just cared. </p><p>He was clasping his hands, insistent to what, he didn’t know. He was always grabbing onto him, wasn't he? Something in the nature of Slavs and the need for contact. But maybe like him, he needed the reassurance. His hands were warmer than he was expecting. The alcohol must be starting to dull his senses. </p><p>“You are no burden. To me. Everybody gets a little funny in the head sometimes, no?” Boris told him. He said this as he was rubbing his thumb against his palm. It might be his nervous tick or something. He thinks it was more reassuring to him than to Boris. </p><p>It made him feel a little more alive. </p><p>“You’re a good friend.” He told him. Then he moved his hands away, searching his glass for something to down. It was empty. He must have drunk it and not even noticed. Maybe he could get one of the waiters to bring a round out for them. He looked fervently for someone to call. He thought he caught the eye of one and let out a sigh of relief. </p><p>“Yeah…”</p><p>Suddenly, Boris pulled down his arm, shaking his head at the waiter and motioning for the bill. Theo glared at him, but only half-heartedly. He was too drunk to be that angry. When Boris wretched his arm to his side, he let go, smiling. </p><p>“Well, looks like it’s time for you to go to bed.”</p><p>Theo looked at him quizzically. “What? You serious?” He raised a brow at this. </p><p>“I know when the party’s ended, Potter.” He reasoned. </p><p>Theo wasn’t expecting that, thinking they were going to spend the next few hours getting drunk till they couldn’t see straight. It was unlike Boris to not take up the opportunity to drink, him saying it was his poison. It was weird for him. But he didn’t have much brain power when he was already this incapacitated, so he relented, thinking that maybe Boris was just giving him a break; what a weird thought. </p><p>“Well, alright then.”</p><p>Boris had already put down the money for their drinks, talking to the man quietly in Polish before beaming at his response. He led them away from their table and out into the frigid cold, clasping his back warmly as he steered him towards the streets where they were sure to catch a cab. If Theo would think about it, Boris’s movement’s were a bit hurried, more so than usual. He seemed to have a place to be for once, but from what Theo could tell, there was nothing wrong, only a good friend trying to get him home. </p><p>“I’ll get the cab.”</p><p>“There’s no need-”</p><p>“No, I’m paying.” Boris told him, harshly and if Theo questioned, maybe he would see that something was wrong. But he was tired and the whiskey was good and he felt all warm inside, better than he was before. He definitely drank more than he remembered.</p><p>“Fine.”</p><p>As Boris waved one over, he was overcome with the need to say something. Boris had paid for everything, everything they could have possibly needed for a good time and he had been such a prude that he had actually felt bad about it. Must have been such a buzzkill to sit right by him while he basked him in old funks and his own stupidity. He should make it up to him. He wasn't being the greatest friend and he could really feel that Boris was really trying to get him to get better. </p><p>He should give him a chance. </p><p>“Hey.”</p><p>Boris looked at him expectedly as the cab pulled up into the lot. He could already tell that the driver wouldn’t be in the best mood when this little conversation was all over (cab drivers usually weren’t the most friendly people), but he didn’t really care right now. He needed to say this. Always passive; he was sick of it. </p><p>“Let’s grab lunch sometime, alright?” He told him because he thinks that’s a regular thing friends invite each other to. He didn’t have many friends his age but he hoped it wasn’t that weird. Maybe it was more a co-worker thing, he wasn’t sure. He could feel himself ruffling his hair sporadically, fidgeting slightly. He was going to tell himself it was the alcohol. “I wasn’t much fun today so let me make it up to you.”</p><p>He thought that was normal enough. Hopefully he remembers this in the morning. It would be a pain to forget. It always sucked to forget. He hoped this time it would be different. If he could just remember for once, he thinks he would be satisfied. The bits and pieces he would manage to hold onto would never be like the full picture. Maybe he could take it upon himself to remember. </p><p>Baby steps. </p><p>Then he could learn to be okay. </p><p>He could. </p><p>“Okay.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Vixen in the Elevator</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>While Theo couldn’t remember for the life of him what had happened last night, Boris sure as hell made sure he did, texting him repeatedly in the morning on a number he didn’t know and would have blocked if it weren’t for the repeated “Potter! )” and absolute gibberish at the end of every text. He was asking if lunch was on for today and thinking about it, he could blearily remember some type of conversation of the sort, then readily agreed because it would get Boris off his back. It was an off-day anyways. He could make the time. </p><p>He was seeing Mrs. Barbour today too which always felt like a special occasion for him. It made him nervous having to look around every corner for her children, even more so his ex, but he really did appreciate her as a person and it always lifted his mood to see her. He thankfully didn’t have much of a headache this morning so he was able to get out of the flat with ease. He would never dream of being late for Mrs. Barbour. Hopefully the early time would prompt her children to make themselves scarce. There was no way they would be awake to attend to their mother at this time anyhow. He popped a couple pills in the morning for good measure and went on his way, thinking today would be as decent as it could ever be. </p><p>He had proved himself wrong. </p><p>When he had finished his time with Mrs. Barbour, it was just about time to meet Boris. They had agreed to meet at a local cafe and Theo was adamant on getting there at a good time. He was oddly excited despite the fact that he had seen him only yesterday night-he must still not be used to having him around all the time. Tapping impatiently on his phone, he was just sending a reply to Boris while waiting for the elevator to go down when he was met with a shock of platinum blonde hair in his peripheral vision. He immediately stiffened, and hoping he could get out quickly and without issue, adamantly scrolled through his phone as a distraction. </p><p>“Hey, can I talk to you?”</p><p>He stopped, looked up, and confirming his suspicions, was met with the face of the one and only Kitsey Barbour. She was staring at him, quizzical, her soft pink lips pouting as she waited for him to reply, manicured eyebrows raised. She looked like a doll: pretty and perfect and pure. If he were anyone else, maybe he would have softened, for her and only her; maybe he could have made it work for her. </p><p>If only he could. </p><p>“No.”</p><p>She looked at him, surprised, mouth open, and then her teeth clenched and her expression changed; the glamour turning to a glare; her pink turning to poison; glass, cracked and piercing as she glared at him. </p><p>“I just wanted to see how you’re doing.” She huffed, accusatory. </p><p>He turned his head away from her, resolutely looking away from her face. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”</p><p>That clearly wasn’t enough for her. </p><p>“Look, I’m trying to be nice!” He could hear her shriek.   </p><p>“And I have nothing to say.”</p><p>“Will you just try to be civil?”</p><p>“I am. It’s just<em> you </em> decided to talk to <em> me </em>.” He could feel his face grow hot with the exertion taken to saying anything, anything at all to her. It was exhausting and fervently, he watched the elevator doors, waiting for a chance to get out. He inwardly cursed at the fact that the Barbours live on such a high floor. </p><p>“Ever since that shady guy came and took you from <em> our </em> engagement party, you’ve been like this. Moody, different.”</p><p>He felt his breath stutter and then his anger leak and try as he might to be civil, he felt himself lose to his temper as he looked at her, tightlipped and anxious. He bit the inside of his cheek, hard, to prevent himself from starting a scene and faced her.  </p><p>“Maybe I just grew some balls.” He spat out. </p><p>That only made her smirk however and despite his small achievement in getting any word edgewise-which he was never able to do, she seemed unaffected as she looked at him, considering, before she gave her final blow. </p><p>“Maybe you just got a boo.”</p><p>He sputtered. “Excuse me?”</p><p>“You heard me.” </p><p>Why was he even listening to this? As soon as the door to the elevator opened, he pushed himself out, walking briskly to the door. A trail of blonde tap, tapped after him and for the first time in his life he could see just how irritating the sound could be.  </p><p>“I don’t need to hear this.” </p><p>“Oh, come on. You didn’t care before!” She called after him. She tried to keep up, but her steps were unmatched to his overtly assured large ones. It was like a chihuahua keeping up with a greyhound. She huffed in annoyance, losing step with him as she found it futile. Since when has she ever backed down from a fight? He was already out the door and halfway out the street, but even he couldn’t resist looking back as he saw her frustrated face. </p><p>“You were gonna marry me!” </p><p>And to him it sounded like screeching. It wasn’t cute anymore. Her pain didn’t bring him guilt anymore and if anything, it spurred him on. But he was above that. He couldn’t make a scene. In front of people. Somehow he had the calm to compose himself and with an even turn, gave her a look, even as onlookers were obviously watching and the doormen had stopped whatever they were doing to get a piece of the action. </p><p>“I can’t marry someone I don’t love.”</p><p>And for the first time, he meant it. </p><p>~</p><p>“I’ve been trying to get clean.”</p><p>“And you’ve been doing a shit job at it. Hit me.”</p><p>Boris had found him in his apartment doing what he always did whenever he couldn’t think straight. The man had been taking to showing up unannounced these days and seldom had he ever come knocking on the door. </p><p>He should really start locking it. </p><p>Theo looked at him, unamused, as he stubbornly remained where he was sitting. He wasn’t obligated to share his stash. If anything, Boris should let him have this. They shared everything as children. Why should he be doing the same now? </p><p>“Come on. You’re not going to have that all to yourself. I’m your guest.” He said proudly. </p><p>‘Guest? Hah. Freeloader was more like it.’</p><p>Without a word, Theo handed a baggy which Boris whole-heartily accepted, sitting himself down onto the couch beside him and not even making an effort to leave space between them. Sighing, Theo watched as he pulled out a credit card, dumping more blow onto his poor table as he greedily cut the lines, grinning wildly while rolling up a bill to inhale. He had cut them into four lines as swiftly as any expert would, and without a word, sniffed up two and sighed, loudly, as self-satisfactory as ever. </p><p>All Theo could do was watch as the man beside him laid back and inhaled, his knees knocking into him in the process. He didn’t bother to scoot away-it’s not like he would have been able to get away with it. Still, he was getting knocked into the arm of his sofa, repeatedly hitting the armrest, but it didn’t feel all that necessary to complain about it anymore. </p><p>What happened to him? If he was smaller, younger, he would be pitching for a fight at the slightest chance. A stunt like that would have been a breach of his honor to him. He was a fighter, a warrior of glasses and shaggy hair, spitting and fuming because everything in this world spit back. This would have provoked battle, blood even, because as much as he was his best friend, sometimes he deemed him his worst enemy. </p><p>‘Guess it wasn’t like that anymore.’</p><p>He wasn’t fighting, clinging to the cliff’s edge so to speak anymore. He wasn’t the type to keep pushing like that. Things bit and stung, the world was cold and grey, but in the center of it all, it wasn’t fistfights and sharp knives anymore. No, he was clinging onto a promise that somehow, somehow he could make it out there, reach for the stars if you will. </p><p>He wasn’t made for that top. </p><p>Man, was he tired though. He doesn’t know how long it’s been now, how far he’s been drifting off but at this point, the buzz of the blow had gone soft and now he’s stuck back where he’d been before: down under. If he looked to his right, he’d see magic and mayhem in a person, the epitome of a good time in a rockstar physique. Drugs weren’t made for him like that. Glamor wasn’t part of his ensemble. He couldn’t help but sigh. </p><p>“You still there, Potter?”</p><p>He was surprised he was being talked to.  </p><p>“Yeah. Yeah, I’m here.”</p><p>“Good. Good. Not bad for your stash, no. Usually what you’ve got is shit.” </p><p>He quirked an eyebrow at that. </p><p>“Excuse me?” </p><p>“You heard.” And then he took another line. Theo almost got up to get another, but hung back. He didn’t want to waste the effort. </p><p>“Oh come now. Where is life of party? You can’t do no more?”</p><p>“I’m tired.” He told him. </p><p>“When is one tired? Why be tired? The night is young!” Boris looked confused at this, but Theo meant it. He really was tired. He doesn’t think he'd make it if he decided to go outside right now.</p><p>“I think I’m good, Boris.”</p><p>Boris just huffed at this, backing himself further into the couch.“Pity.” And Theo thought that was the end of it, he really thought, but as soon as it came to mind, Boris was sitting up just as abruptly, further knocking into him and thus shoving him into the couch. </p><p>“We can get women. Paint the streets red.” Boris grinned maniacally at this, causing Theo to want to curl up into a ball and hide. He didn’t want to go anywhere. </p><p>‘Of course that was the only lingo he understood.’</p><p>“I don’t feel like it, Boris.” </p><p>“Come on! It will be fun!” </p><p>Would it be fun though? Would it? Could he hold on to the inclination that maybe, one day when he’s out with Boris, things will feel better and go back to the way they were? Could he just forget about all the shit he had done and leave it be to, see other women? Live his life carefree? Not be burdened with his own fucking thoughts and the idea that maybe, maybe it wasn’t worth it, being alive? He looked at Boris and sighed, making no attempt to move. He hoped that Boris could get the hint, maybe leave him with a couple baggies and a cheerful goodbye. He could see him another day. After all, it looked like he would still be around. It was a semi-cheerful thought. </p><p>“You’re no fun.” Boris conceded. And then he sat back down next to him and laid back, eyes closed. It looked like the coke was finally wearing off. Boris tired was a fundamental after-effect of a good bend. If he could believe it, he was almost serene.</p><p>Theo laid there, assessing these thoughts as he thought about how much of an idiot he really was. Boris had come looking for him and being his stupid imcompetent self, he had resigned to act the fool, hogging his stash and being but a child. Was he ever going to change? Was he ever going to be-normal?</p><p>“Why’re you still here?” He asked. </p><p>“Why <em> you </em>still here?”</p><p>“This is my flat, Boris.” </p><p>“So? You can leave too.”</p><p>Theo couldn’t help the ghost of smile that reflected on his face to appear at such a statement. Sometimes Boris was all he needed to see how ridiculous everything really was. It was just as nice to just sit here as it was to chatter, shoving each other into walls before they jumped in the pool for a nightly swim, or watched the television on mute or slept in the same bed. Lonely but living. Was that their motto?</p><p>“Thanks.”</p><p>“You are welcome?”</p><p>“It just-” And he was about to say but hung back. “-no, nevermind.” </p><p>It wasn’t worth the effort. </p><p>Boris got up again, moving from his position in the couch cushions to bend over and study him, positioning himself closer to the coffee table. “Take another line with me.” He said. He moved his head in the direction of the lines. “Come on.” </p><p>And it was such a Boris thing to say that he almost said yes. If he could find the energy, maybe he could humor him. He could pretend he wanted the fun. That benders were for getting it up and being the life of the party. If he could believe it, maybe his life wouldn’t feel like such a mess. Maybe his little problem wouldn’t feel as big of a let-down. Would Kitsey want the same? He could only guess. </p><p>“I’m tired Boris.” </p><p>He said it and almost regretted it because he should be trailing after him, a lost puppy in the midst of the desert. Boris was a beacon in the dust and weeds telling him just how far he could ride the rails before someone would take his hide. It never felt like an equal exchange, him always wanting an out or something to hold on to, and in breaking that bond, would Boris still want to be there with him? He didn’t know.</p><p>Boris looked away, and he almost felt fear for his life from the very action; hunched at his side and not a drug in sight. He sat, thoughtful for a moment, with one of those looks he had when he was really thinking about something important, dark edges and a brooding figure. It was probably about Dostoevsky or Tolstoy or some other great Russian mind; the possibility of life and death; what really was good and evil. He liked to think of life and death and achievement unlike him. He always wanted to know, unlike him. If he could avoid the question altogether, he was better off than what was his reasoning. He would never know what Boris was thinking about and sometimes it was best to not question it. People needed their time alone and the longer he watched, the more he felt was intruding on something and he felt almost ashamed. It was best to ignore. It was best to be and not be with. Because sometimes you couldn’t do anything about it. </p><p>“Me too.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The Merry, Merry Holidays</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>You didn’t think I’d put a holiday chapter? (Okay fine, there are multiple).</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>If Theodore Decker were to describe Christmas, he’d say it’s a shit holiday with too many crowds and too many bright lights that would burn your retinas. It was a good thing no one asked him. It was understandable-Christmas was a shit holiday with a dead mom. Who really cared about the presents? And after what happened the year before-let’s just say he was holed up in his hotel room for a week with a bottle or three and an indescribable amount of pills (damn those German Christmas markets). He was thinking he could stay at the store with Hobie and have an easy holiday, one where he could avoid the holiday air or the Christmas spirit or whatever the fuck people called it these days: he had had enough. </p><p>Unfortunately he didn’t take into account the circumstances that followed. </p><p>One cool evening in which Theo was running shop and Hobie had decided to poke his head out from his abominable dungeon-workshop, Theo was met with one of the few conundrums of which had either made him want to run all the way to Siberia or hide in his flat until the seasons changed and all this Christmas shit could be over. </p><p>“Pippa’s coming this year. For the holidays. I told her we wanted to see her if that’s okay with you.” Hobie looked hopefully at Theo in a way that pleaded that he could be okay with this. It’s been so long since they’ve last seen each other, or talked for that matter (he had had a short call with Hobie last Christmas and well, tried to call Pipa but ultimately chickened out and quickly forgot the day and the next through his nefarious activities). But he didn’t know that. All he felt was white-hot shame.</p><p>Hobie watched him carefully, as if he would break, but he wouldn’t! Who is he to figure he was glass just cause he couldn’t bring himself to talk to her- okay, he could see his point. It still made him angry though. </p><p>“She can come! Why would I have any problem with it?” He asked, like a liar. He could tell how defensive he sounded and felt awful for it but he couldn’t take it back now. He bit his tongue to prevent himself from saying anything more incriminating, already mad at himself for acting out in front of Hobie. </p><p>Hobie seemed to have ignored his outburst though, deftly disregarding it as he continued. “Well, you two haven’t talked in awhile. You haven’t seen each other in over a year.” He looked him over, a side glance he knew all too well. “It would be nice, wouldn’t it?” His features turned into the ghost of a smile, a natural feature of his because he just couldn’t help loving people. It was one of the best traits of his. </p><p>But also one of his worst. </p><p>“Well, yeah.” Theo admitted. He never wanted to disappoint. He was reluctant to admit it but he did. They both knew he did. It was too obvious to ignore. He was always so telltale. It was a curse of his. They both knew he wasn’t going to be okay until he did something about it. </p><p>He just hoped he wouldn’t look the fool. </p><p>With as much conviction as he could get from him, Hobie nodded, satisfied with the response and making haste, began walking away with a cheery bounce in his step back to his workshop. He was always holed up there or at some dinner or meeting friends, the older socialites of Manhattan. It was the norm and as soon as this conversation had started, it would end and Theo would be back to counting the sales. But it wasn’t one of those days. Hobie had something planned for him. When Hobie turned back around he knew he was in for it now. </p><p>“Oh and by the way, Everett is coming too.” He told him as if it was an afterthought which he absolutely knew wasn’t true. That sly old man had timed this perfectly and he didn’t know if he should be impressed or go absolutely mental. </p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Yes, I believe the fellow is coming as well.” Hobie said offhandedly as if this wasn’t going to leave him laying awake well into the night. “Oh well. The more the merrier.”</p><p>‘The more the merrier.’ The more the merrier his ass. Everett was visiting again, what with his boring personality and boring use of language. He could never understand what she sees in him. He wasn’t even that good-looking. Stupid British accents and their stupid way of getting to people. </p><p>“Theo…”</p><p>What? It would be hard enough as it is to make up to her without that ass to have around. It wasn’t as if he had done anything wrong, but Theo still had the inclination to hate him. He felt inferior and othered compared to a man like that and he didn’t think he could enjoy himself if he had to deal with the overwhelming urge to strangle a man throughout the holidays. He would rather work and forget about all the hassle of cheer if he could just avoid that awkward situation altogether. </p><p>But it looked like Hobie was pleading and it looked like he wouldn’t be able to get out of this even if he tried (him and his stupid conscience), so he relented, knowing that he was going to hate it and knowing that it would just make his and Pippa’s relationship even worse. He just couldn’t keep his cool even if he tried. He knew it. Everyone knew it. Everyone could see it on his face. One look and they would know.  </p><p>But he had to try to make everyone happy. </p><p>“Perhaps Boris could come over too?”</p><p>“Boris?” </p><p>“Well, he’s in the area now and has no family to spend Christmas with. It would be like a trip to down memory lane. Or is he leaving for the holidays?”</p><p>He hadn’t thought of that. Boris had told him that he was here to stay but surely he would be out for Christmas? Meet up with some old drinking buddies in Sweden? Drink to high hell in Kiev? He honestly didn’t know and felt embarrassed that he never asked. Boris never thought that far ahead. He might not even have a plan now, just decide to leave the day of, tomorrow even to some far-off place without a second to waste, no one the wiser. </p><p>“I honestly don’t know.” He admitted. </p><p>“Well, ask him. I’m sure he would be happy to spend the time with us.” </p><p>~</p><p>Like any other day these days, Boris had met up with him after work, loitering around the front of the shop as he waited for him to finish closing up. He didn’t question it anymore, already knowing he wouldn’t get a clear answer anyways. He really should just accept it already and move on. It would hurt his head too much to worry about such measly things even if it was driving him up the wall. </p><p>If Boris wanted to spend the rest of his free-time with him, that was fine by him. He could do whatever he wants. He was a grown man. As long as he kept <em> him </em>out of his troubles then he could live with it. There was fun to be had in having a Boris around, even if he was a handful. He could indulge, just a little bit without the fear of that shame that always had gotten alone. It was hard to keep hold of himself sometimes; the questioning of his own actions could leave him at a standstill, a catalyst to his own destructive tendencies. </p><p>Of course he wasn’t always there. Sometimes Theo was left to his own devices, taking pill after pill, drinking and smoking and pushing himself to the point of his own demise. One day he could be found on his couch, frothing at the mouth and kneeled over and that would be the end of it. He was messed up. And tired. And needed the relief. He was weak and he knew it and he knew he could be the end of himself but with Boris around, maybe he had a chance. </p><p>Boris wasn’t the best influence in the world. He was loud and brash and criminal with a stash of drugs and a wad of questionable cash always on his person. He wasn’t the greatest but he was something; a cockamamie character of valor and loose morals. There was always a reason for everything to him, however wild and absolutely nonsensical. He was a good man nonetheless; the eye of a storm that would always leave him in a standstill. He wasn’t perfect but he was trying, wanting to help him and trying to be there when he needed it most. </p><p>It made him feel like shit. </p><p>“Hey Boris.” </p><p>“Hmm?” </p><p>“What are you doing for the holidays?”</p><p>“The holidays?” He asked. </p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“Like are you seeing people or flying out or-?”</p><p>“I told you before: I’m staying here with you.” He told him and that seemed to be that to him because he immediately lost his attention. The man was already watching the ground with great interest. He said these kinds of things so matter-of-factly that it made him uncomfortable sometimes. No hesitation. None. He would just give him one of those looks that said ‘Enough already.’ and then continue on whatever he was doing. Right now he was splashing in a fucking puddle on the ground and completely dismissed saying something so embarrassing as if remarking about the weather.</p><p>“Yeah, but I mean it makes sense that you would leave for the holidays, take a trip, work or I don’t know.” He retorted.</p><p>Boris stopped mid-puddle, annoyed. Like he could even be irritated at him while<em> he </em> was jumping around like a child. He wasn’t even fully immersed in this conversation, only staring at the water and saying <em> that </em> . He was frowning at him now, not <em> his </em>dripping-wet Chelseas, but him for asking a question.  </p><p>What else would I do?” He said nonchalantly. He saw that knit-brow look Theo was giving him and began to pick up pace. He was only asking a question but he was acting as if he would actually stupid for asking it in the first place.“Your poofter already invited me.” </p><p>‘This asshole.’</p><p>He scowled, pissed off and Boris didn’t look sorry. Although he was keeping his distance he was bemused, keeping in step with Theo’s pacing but just out of reach. It was almost as if he wanted to be chased. He grinned, teeth flashing; a cat that caught the canary; the Cheshire cat as he smiled at Alice in the forest; mad and whimsical-he couldn’t believe he had just now realized how much Boris reminded him of an alley cat. His teeth were gleaming.</p><p>“Potter, you’re so slow.”</p><p>Theo shook his head to clear it. He was getting ahead of himself. And this should be a good thing. This was what he wanted right? Someone to latch onto when the room grew haunting  and he couldn’t hear himself think? He was supposed to give him some form of salvation, a lifeboat from tense conversation and awkward glances and who better than to alleviate such a situation than Boris, the one-man party of charm? Still, he had his reservations. He just knew Boris was going to make it hard for him, ribbing about stupid relations in his face or making sly comments, every chance he took. Thinking about was just forcing him onto a headache. He rubbed his thumbs across his temples to alleviate some of the tension he could feel coming on. </p><p>“Bear in mind that I just found out about this.” He retorted, aggravated.</p><p>“Yes, well you should have known.” </p><p>Boris just couldn’t give him a break. </p><p>“You have got to be kidding me.” He groaned miserably, sure that either way he wouldn’t be saved by the embarrassment. Boris had a way of making things feel a thousand times more chaotic than they had to be and his adrenaline spiked at the thought of what he would say to Pippa. He doesn’t even know what he had told her before; it was worrying to say the least. What could he have possibly said to her before? He just knew it wasn't anything good. </p><p>“It will be fun. Just like old times.” </p><p>Like old times? It was definitely different to any other Christmas he had. All these characters from his life coming together to torture him more like. It was like a collection of all his most recent disappointments sans Kitsey; sans his dead parents; sans Andy. It wasn’t like they could ever come back to haunt him-his thoughts were sufficient enough. It was a miracle he was even going. Why was he going again? To prove something to people? He was already trying to prove something to himself. He wanted to prove something, handle it. He needed the connections alright-even if he was too stubborn to admit it. And he needed to make things right. </p><p>It was admittedly going to be hard and admittedly he was probably going to make a fool of himself at least once-unless Boris had something to say about it. But it would be nice to have the bit of support to keep him sane enough. It had been a long time since they had celebrated together anyhow. His Christmas in Amsterdam was not the best to say the least. </p><p>Was this a makeup one? Could he maybe face the holidays if he could just get through this once? It would be better for him, better for everyone around him for sure. It would be nice to have the support, one more person on his side and keeping him sane. It was a weird thought: Boris was keeping him sane. But it was true. It was true. </p><p>Boris was there for him. </p><p>“Alright.” He told him. </p><p>He hoped it would be. </p><p>~</p><p>Maybe it was too good to be true. </p><p>“Boris we don’t have space for that!”</p><p>“Pish-posh. You have enough space. What good is Christmas without a big tree?”</p><p>Of course he had the gall to start something, bringing something stupid and extravagant and way too big for their place. Cookies, wrapping, some atrociously sparkly tinsel would have been fine, welcome even (okay, maybe not welcome). But no, Boris thought it was okay to drag a massive ten-foot tree to the foot of their door, sweating under his gigantic overcoat with a grin and a few broken branches. He doesn’t even know how he managed to drag the whole thing there. Did he attach it to the back of Gyuri’s car? That would have been a sight to behold: a gang leader’s car being strapped down with a pine on top with a big red bow on the base. It was too comical for words. </p><p>Just when Theo was ready to give Boris an earful (as if he already hadn’t), Hobie had thought to step in, shaking his head as if he was chastising a child. He had an amused glint in his eye, as if it was taking all of his power to keep himself from bursting out laughing, but he held it in, probably for Theo’s sake. </p><p>“I’m sure we can find room for it.” Hobie told Boris. The man in question whooped in delight, grinning smugly at Theo to let him know he won. He hadn’t forgotten. A scowl was already beginning to affix itself to his face. The future state of his working quarters was befalling his mind and he groaned inwardly. </p><p>“Like hell we have enough space!” He argued. “Boris have you seen this place?” He waved his hands for emphasis at the entrance to the living quarters in anguish. The place had just enough to fit the den and kitchen and just enough to fit an entrance to their rooms. “Look at the tree and look at the studio. Now look again. Do you see the problem?”</p><p>“You can make it work.” Boris pointed to the store entrance and back at the tree. “Move some of the furniture. Make room.” He reasoned. </p><p>“Make room? These are original works! We can’t just move them wherever you please! Are you out of your mind? One move in the wrong light and the tarnish is ruined! Not to mention-”</p><p>“We can work it out.” Hobie assured him. He had this look that told him that everything was alright. He didn’t have to worry. But nevertheless he did worry because it was second nature. It was just how he was. </p><p>“Are you sure?” He asked, nervously looking between the tree and doorframe. </p><p>“If we move our pieces right, we can make do.” Hobie reassured him. He looked interested in the challenge, already rolling up his sleeves to make ready for the work ahead of them. Theo gloomily realized this would take up most of his day. Satisfied, Hobie began directing orders, already imagining just where they could put the tree. He had a plan in his mind’s eye and if they worked diligently, they could make do. “Boris.” Boris looked back at Hobie, alert. “You mind helping move some of the pieces as well? Just set up the tree outside against the wall. There you go.”</p><p>“He’s going to break something.” Theo mumbled. He didn’t mean for anyone to hear him but nonetheless Hobie did and gave him a careful eye. Theo felt himself shrink under the gaze. </p><p>“You give him less credit than he deserves. He’s more careful than you think.” Hobie told him. </p><p>“Sure he is.” The thought of Boris being careful was a laugh. He grinned bitterly at the ludicrousy of it. </p><p>“What was that?” Hobie asked him. Not authoritatively but genuinely curious. He didn’t hear what he said. Startled, Theo sunk into himself. He didn’t want to explain. He didn’t even know if he could. </p><p>“Nothing.”</p><p>He went inside to go help Boris.</p><p>~</p><p>“It actually looks pretty good.” Theo admitted. He didn’t want to but it wasn’t as if he could lie. It really did look good. </p><p>“See? What did I tell you?” Boris looked back at him, obviously preening. He thought it was all his doing and while the majority of the help was obviously him, he didn’t want him to get a bigger head than he already obviously had. </p><p>“Yeah, yeah.”</p><p>The tree had managed to fit inside, just barely, but they managed. Hobie had cut off some branches with one of his woodworking saws and they had to move a good portion of the store’s wares to the back, much to Theo’s dismay, but once set up in the stand and expertly cut, it didn’t look half bad. The tree was big and borgeous, a nice one you’d find in a fancy mall. A few balls and a star and it would be perfect. </p><p>Hobie clasped his hands in appreciation, awed. “It’s a splendid tree, Boris. Saved me the trouble of getting one myself.” </p><p>Theo let out a sigh of relief. He could go back to work now. No worries. But just as he thought he could retreat to his hole, he was met by expectant eyes, both shining in holiday delight. They were expecting more of him, he realized belatedly and deflated. Looks like his whole day was really going to be spent on holiday cheer. No finance work on the store for him. Even if they really needed it. </p><p>Theo, you mind getting the decorations out?”</p><p>He minded. He minded a lot. But these two had these hoping against hope attitudes, eyes wide and pleading gazes that he couldn’t be a grinch, his heart two sizes too small and the tender sweetness of a seasick crocodile. He was no match for the hopeful ones. They would always get to him no matter how hard he tried to evade them. It was just his fate. </p><p>“Yeah. Alright.” He relented. </p><p>He made his way over to storage, heading right in the direction, but just before stopping to listen to whatever Hobie and Boris were talking about. He always got nervous whenever Boris talked to other people he knew and this time was no different. What with the way the words exchanged between him and Pippa eating at him every now and then since the day that Hobie even suggested that Boris should come around and stay with them for Christmas, his anxiety towards what they could be saying about him was through the roof and with whatever transpired now he was praying it wouldn’t incriminate him. He tried to keep himself quiet, straining to hear what they were talking about which he didn’t have to try too hard for. Boris was always loud and Hobie was getting hard of hearing these days. </p><p>“Excellent. Boris, you’ll love this. After this we can make some hot chocolate. How does that sound to you?” He could hear Hobie say, hearty warmth in his voice throughout the hall. </p><p>Boris laughed merrily, the smile in his voice evident.“Perfect, Mr. Hobie. And Potter will be sure to join us?” Boris asked, sly. It was like he could tell he was listening. He felt himself bristle at the way Boris said that. </p><p>Hobie laughed, seeming to have that faint amusement from before escaping him. He was probably grinning ear to ear, delighted at Boris’s question. “Well, of course. We haven’t let him escape just yet.” He could almost see the wink he’s giving him and how Boris was laying back on their couch, laying back and without a care in the world, satisfied and teeth gleaming back at him at his answer. </p><p>He wanted to kill him. </p><p>~</p><p>When the season reached its peaked and Theo could hear Christmas carols on every major block to the point he wanted to hurl, that meant it was time for Pippa to come and that also meant that Theo would be as antsy as ever, his back turning suddenly every time he heard a ring at the door. It tended to scare the customers a little. He couldn’t help it. He always got like this at this time of year. And even worse, he hadn’t seen Pippa since his engagement incident, making it all the more worrisome that somehow, she would come at an inopportune moment and find him acting the fool for all and her little boyfriend to see.He didn’t want that. He didn’t want that. It would be ruin to lose another; it would ruin him to hurt her more than he already had. He had a conscience, a strong one mind you, and his regular problem was that he hardly listened to it. Well this time he was planning to. This time he was facing his fears. </p><p>It didn’t help that alarm bells rang in his head of what those he cared about would possibly say: Hobie saying he missed her; Boris going on about blood and heart. What most worried him was Boris though; him and his scheming mind. He was the type to have a trick up his sleeve and a smart mouth to boot so if anyone were to be his downfall, it’d be him. He’s been looking in Boris’s direction these days more often than not. Straining to hear every word he said, he was careful to listen to every increment of a plan, some kind of plot for whenever they showed up and he would be witness to his own demise. </p><p>Boris however hasn’t done anything of the sort. He hasn’t mentioned anything. He hasn’t given him sly looks whenever Hobie mentioned her arrival; he hasn’t elbowed him in the ribs at the mention of his childhood friend. It was almost like he wanted to be careful, which was worrying him to no end. Boris being cautious was like the end of the world; fate was nearing the kaboom and they were seconds away from disaster. Sometimes it made him hyperventilate to think about it. </p><p>He knew when Pippa was coming. He’s been counting down the days ever since he got the news. It’s just he couldn’t help the way his hair would rise and goosebumps would prick about his skin on the off-chance that she would come early and surprise him. It wasn’t a too far-out presumption. She had the money to do it. When he got that far out dear-in-the-headlights look you could just tell that he was imagining it. The fear in his eyes was all you needed to know that he was goner. </p><p>When this has happened more often than not and he wasn’t reduced to his usual stuck-in-his-head racing thoughts, it was about this time that Boris had taken it upon himself to be actively hanging around in the store. It had taken some time getting used to and Theo had yelled at him multiple times that he should go back to work-stuttering the word “work” because it was the last thing he wanted to think about-but Boris would always say that the day was slow and that this was so much more worthwhile. All he would do is go over paperwork and work up a sale while Boris watched but to each their own. </p><p>Boris would always watch, critically, and when it seemed that he grew bored would lay against an 18th century chest and watch Theo lose it. It was always good fun and it would always leave Theo steaming, but it was not without its rewards. Besides, Boris was just careful enough that he only left an indent in the dust surrounding which prompted Theo to clean it irritably so as for people not to think that someone was up to anything absolutely disasterdous on their pieces. They were an upstanding business after all. </p><p>Well as upstanding as they could possibly be after his little stunt. </p><p>But it was nice to have someone to talk to now and then, even if he was the one who caused an atrociously-large tree to block most of the vicinity of his workplace. But he did admit that it did attract customers. He had even been able to make a sale from a woman gawking at the door at the large display. The tree definitely did have its merits. </p><p>And Boris had even worked up a sale too. It was just something about him that people always found charming; his sleek-black clothes; his mouth full of gleaming teeth; sharp; catastrophic. He was warm in his white lies and honey truths. It was obvious that he could sell anything. But Theo would never admit that. He would rather grudgingly take the cash and hope that this wouldn’t cause his ego to get too inflated-it didn’t work. He already knew. </p><p>This is just the kind of thing that would happen when your best friend was a natural-born charmer and you were just-a nerd. He could get anything he wanted but him-he had to work for it. He had to get over his anxiety and just live through it. Turn on a charm. Click the switch. Turn all the handles. He was a different person; all class and nothing else. But Boris was a different breed altogether. </p><p>He shouldn’t get jealous. He shouldn’t get jealous. He should be happy that his friend was around, there to help him. He wanted to help him-that was what he should be focusing on. If he could just focus then maybe he would see that it wasn’t so bad. He was here for him-for however long he wanted. Who knew if he would be gone today or the next but he said he would be here for now so he should make the most of it. It was more lively now-at the store. Maybe it was better for him to like it; maybe it was better for him to love it while it lasts.  </p><p>~</p><p>It was time. It was time and Hobie was sitting on the porch steps, antsy, because he hadn’t seen her in a year. He loved the boys and he welcomed the shouting, the punching, how the two were bordering on reckless. He liked the company and was appreciative of it. They never failed to make him laugh. Boys would be boys; the complete lack of abandon said as much. It was nice to have something to look forward to on a workday besides the woodwork.But more often than not he just wanted to see that little girl again. </p><p>He helped raise her all these years. She was like his child and because of Welty, he had that privilege to help. Having her around was like having a piece of him back with him. He missed him. He missed his best friend everyday and sometimes it felt almost lonely to watch the two boys go at it. It’d just remind him of the old days and would grow sad at the thought. It made him happy to see Theo act his age, don’t get him wrong, but sometimes the sentiment felt bittersweet. </p><p>He wished he could go back. </p><p>But he was too late. He was an old man now and his time was over. It was time to sit back and let the young ones have their shine. He had his dinners and his lunches and his days reminiscing of old-it was what he did, but he wasn’t ever going to go back to a time where his life was that alive again. He was old and time had passed and he was one of those leftover pieces of another lifetime. He was just here for the rest of the ride. </p><p>All he could wish for was that people would visit before it was over. </p><p>“Hobie!” A voice yelled out from the street and Hobie turned, startled, as a figure jumped him, embracing him, a jumpy bundle of red hair and thick blues scarves. He hugged back after a surprised “oof,” laughing as he always did when he realized who it was. </p><p>“How’re you doing, dear?” He croaked.</p><p>It’s been too long. </p><p>“Well as ever. It’s good to see you, Hobie.” Pippa smiled into his shoulder, giggling softly as she let go to get a good look at him. He smiled, overjoyed at seeing her so full of energy. More often than not, he had seen her bed bound and tired. Now looking at her now-he was too happy for words. But he had to control himself. He couldn’t tear up, not now. When they were finally apart, he could see Everett looking back at them at the sidelines politely. Realizing how he was making the poor boy wait, he made a move to shake his hand, the man grateful as he took it kindly. </p><p>“How are you doing, Everett?” He asked. </p><p>“Well as ever, thank you.” He told him, looking thankful. He had two luggages by his side and noticing, he could see the pain in his face. It must have been a long flight and the two must be exhausted. Quickly ushered them in, telling Pippa all the latest news that had escaped him on their last call. Pippa nodded, enjoying herself and appreciating one of Hobie’s classic talks, when she stopped him, suddenly tight-lipped, worried. </p><p>“Is Theo here too?” She asked. He knew how much she’s been wanting to talk to him lately and seeing her distress, he quickly diverted her to the shopfront, hurrying the two to meet the blond before he hatched an escape route. </p><p>“Oh he’s back at the shop as per usual. You should go say a hello. I bet he’s with Boris too.”</p><p>“Boris?” She questioned, perplexed. </p><p>“Yeah. He’s staying in New York City now.” He told her and her eyes widened comically at the news, disbelieving. He would have been surprised too if it were the other way around, but here they were and here he was, taking up space in his shop almost every other day. </p><p>“Who’s Boris?” Everett asked, piping up behind them. There was no elbow room for talking between the two and needing to take the opportunity, he questioned out of genuine curiosity and the need to earn a few brownie points for his girlfriend. He wanted her old father figure to like him and never wanted to be in anybody’s bad graces, though her old childhood friend sure made that difficult. He always had a curt air to him that always felt impalpable to conversation no matter how hard he tried. This Boris seemed to be an interesting point of conversation, both seeming to be surprised and very much amused of his current presence. He wondered how this person could possibly be, probably quite interesting in personality and character.  He didn’t need to waste time for introductions however for as soon as they had entered the storefront, they could hear the cries and cackles of the man in question. </p><p>“Boris, if you fucking run in here, I will kill you.” Theo roared. He was inching on Boris now, the two in a game of chicken of who will move first as a wild figure in black sneered back at him, hiding behind a nice commode for leverage against whatever this was, a stark contrast to what he would normally expect in an antique store of high caliber and rather fragile pieces. Theo looked about ready to tear his hair out. </p><p>“You can try. I’m still faster than you.” Boris retaliated, already getting ready to run. Theo looked at him, baffled at his ability to be a complete and utter idiot as he too found himself antsy to grab him and prevent him from knocking down anything. But more than anything, the sweet satisfaction of knocking him down a peg would be all too well-deserved. He tried to calm his frigid nerves, telling himself that he was in his store, a store with expensive antiques nevertheless that didn’t need the odd and ends of a few brush-ups with a bony elbow to give them any more character than they already had. </p><p>“I’m a good six inches taller than you.” He huffed. </p><p>Boris pretended not to hear that. Instead, he grinned mischievously like he just had thought up the best idea in the world. Looking at Theo, he gave him an expression that could only be described as feral, smirking as if he had already won. “What are you, chicken?” He mused. </p><p>Theo sighed, knowing what he was aiming at. “That’s not going to work on me.” And that wasn’t because he was too old for that and nobody their goddamn age would find that in any way enticing. Try as he might, his tricks weren’t going to work on him. </p><p>Undeterred, Boris smiled, innocent, which Theo found in no way such, and as Boris preened at the attention, Theo knew that whatever this was it couldn’t be good. “Yeah? Bawk. Bawk.” Theo gave him one look, grit his teeth and scowled. </p><p>“Stop it.”</p><p>“Bawk. Bawk. Bawk. Bawk. Bawk. Bawk.”</p><p>“Stop it.” </p><p>“Bawk. Bawk. Bawk. Bawk. Bawk. Bawk. Bawk. Bawk. Bawk. Bawk.”</p><p>He was growing incensed by the minute, too under the boiling point, and as soon as Boris started up again, he found himself pouncing on him. “Okay, you know what?” He yelled and raced towards him, blowing over, unable to think, unable to see and the next thing he knew, he had him in a headlock and Boris was struggling to free himself. He didn’t care though as as he saw was red and as they were screaming at each other and as world faded to just them, he felt some eyes upon his shoulder and struggling to look as Boris was trying to claw at him, he found his childhood crush, her boyfriend, and his business partner all staring at them in varying degrees of wonder and alarm and as he realized just what he was doing, he dropped his grip on Boris’s neck as the other man stood up grumbling and slowly catching up to the situation at hand. </p><p>“Pippa.” Theo started. “Nice to see you.”</p><p>  She raised a brow at him, trying hard not to smile but failing miserably. She was chuckling into her hand at this point, her being his saving grace as Boris was knocking into him, punching his sides in glee. “You too. How are you?” She grinned, a laugh escaping. </p><p>“Good. Good.” He nodded automatically, trying not to shrink into himself. He glared as Boris for him to shut it while the man in question only pouted, trying to act all innocent. It only made him more willing to shove his head in. As he was glaring daggers into Boris’s head, Pippa giggled at his actions, finding it utterly amusing while he found himself in absolute dismay. He was ruined; he knew it. </p><p>“Looks like you’re having fun.” She smiled under her hand. </p><p>“What? No!” He told her, defensive. He felt a stream of commentary coming on as he pulled Boris off his side, even as the other man was looking at him wickedly as if it was a threat. He could just tell that this was all part of his plan and he wanted to have none of it. It didn’t work that way for him. “Boris decided-” He began but then Boris shushed him, putting a hand right in his face, and therefore silencing him. </p><p>“Ah, she’s here now! Hello Pippa! How are you?” He welcomed her as if he had done nothing wrong. He had the opportunity to spit into his hand but he wasn’t going to do it even if he was really tempted to. He wretched his arm off of him, huffing as he glared at the culprit. His two friends chose to ignore him. </p><p>“Hi Boris! How’s it been? I didn’t expect you to be here!” She gushed and the two grinning back at each other, making Theo’s insides crawl and fight the urge to shut Boris out of the store. </p><p>“Yes, time’s change. I live here now!” He announced, gleeful. </p><p>“I heard! Congratulations!”</p><p>If he could die right here that would be great, thanks. </p><p>Pippa moved to the side to introduce a very perplexed Everett who held out his hand, baffled at the exchange. Pippa smiled proudly looking between the two even as Everett was gawking at the amount of chains and rings this man had on. They were obviously very expensive. </p><p>“How’d you do?” He asked him carefully. </p><p>Boris took his hand and shook it seriously, holding a strong grip even as he was smiling. “Hello. Hello.” He greeted him heartily. He looked curiously at him, giving him a once-over as he surveyed his old wool coat and even older dress shoes. He looked back at Theo and smirked. He easily understood the meaning and frowned. </p><p>Pippa was pattering about, oblivious as she explained a very confused Everett. “He’s Theo’s old childhood friend.” She told him, laughing as she watched the two men stare each other down as Boris made a motion with his hand and Theo gave him a look, a forefinger under his chin and making a slicing motion as Boris snickered, letting him know that he wouldn’t be able to kill him even if he tried. Everett watched as the friend of his girlfriend came alive with what looked like rage to kill a man and wondered how exactly the two could actually be that close without a body at the other end of it. </p><p>“Oh, what fun.” He told her. As he watched the two shout at each other, gesturing with wild hand motions and one of them screeching in Russian, he wasn’t so sure if it was just that. Beggars can’t be choosers, he supposed. </p><p>Theo could feel the eyes on him and didn’t want to glare in Pippa’s direction or make more of a scene than he already had, already knowing that hell was going to come to him during the week. He wasn’t going to do anything. He wasn’t going to do anything-that was a lie. He couldn’t help it this time. Boris stuck his tongue out at and pointed to the couple in front of them, making an obscene motion with his hands. He was justified to deck him. They couldn’t blame him for that.  </p><p>When the two looked back at them, he couldn’t help feeling as though his hair was standing on end, red in the face and pleading with Boris to tone it down. But of course he wouldn’t, smiling gleefully back at him and sure to torture him for the next few days. He just knew it; it was a sign. </p><p>As he thought about this, he grew ill at the fact that his Christmas would be a loud one which of course Everett was thinking the same. If he knew that he and Everett had the same idea in mind, he would be disgusted and maybe a bit pleased that Boris could make him pale considerably at the obvious peril he would face spending his time with them. However, he did not know that and while he bemoaned the missed chance of a quiet evening, he pleaded for the possibility of being able to leave the incident unscathed of his dignity and the ability to look anyone in the eye. </p><p>Indeed. </p><p>What fun. </p><p>~</p><p>Boris of course had immediately taken a liking to everyone and while his childish antics from before were baffling, his ability to reign-in manners were more so as he easily talked himself into a conversation about philosophy between Hobie and Everett who became surprisingly very deeply engaged. Out in the den, at this point they had talked for hours much to the chagrin of Theo and smiling sheepishly back at him, Pippa had admitted that she had no idea what they were talking about either. Taking the opportunity, they had set out back to the deck like they had done long before. </p><p>Theo couldn’t believe his luck. He wasn’t expecting to be able to get a chance to be alone with her so soon. He hoped he didn’t look too eager, or like a cad-he didn’t want to be <em> that guy </em> anymore. He was such a tool before but he didn’t want to be. He didn’t want to be and wanted to apologize but didn’t know if he deserved to or not and it was making him nervous even sitting next to her, her looking up at the stars in awe while he lost his mind to the spiraling of his own thoughts. </p><p>“So Boris lives here now?”</p><p>It took him a minute before he could think up a response to that, head so up in the clouds and mind a fog that when he came back up to Earth, all he could give her was a definitive “Yeah.” and he almost wished he could punch himself. He should be able to find the right words by now to demand something of a presence. Was he that pathetic? </p><p>Pippa just laughed as he groaned. She had a glass of wine on her hands and she was pleasantly tipsy, a small smile on her face and her cheeks pink from the cold. It was not long ago when they had done the exact same thing, Theo at the time wishing that they could have been closer and just hoping that maybe she would see him as a man and not a boy-that was never going to happen; there was never a time. It was like time hadn't changed at all and they were just stuck like that: a limbo of his maybes and hopelessness. </p><p>She was just nice and he was an idiot. </p><p>“Things must be more exciting now.” She suddenly told him and it was probably because he hadn’t said anything for so long. He wanted to agree because it was true but he almost felt bad for having fun without her. How could he continue living like nothing happened while she had to dwell on his stupid actions and even stupider musings of a them; that was too much for one person to handle. </p><p>He didn’t know what she was expecting of him-it felt better not to ask. He was so nervous about what he should do or what he should say that he sat there, stiff as a board, as she waited upon him with presumably baited breath and a hug for the finale. Because she was just that nice. Because she really, truly was just that forgiving. He didn’t deserve any of it. He was so caught up in the pressures and the possibilities that he slumped into himself, defeated while Pippa watched.</p><p>“You can say that again.” He said miserably. </p><p>He wanted to feel bad. Absolutely awful. He wanted to hate himself for leaving her for what it was: a runaway. Because he couldn’t live up to his feelings; because he was a sick puppy-dog that was after a woman that would never love him; because he had never owned up to it. He was always a scaredy cat. And she had politely declined and maintained a friendship with him, despite all he had done and all the fruitless yearning for a girl he never really knew. He had felt it in himself to say that he had loved her when he really hadn’t known her at all. </p><p>He should really act his age. </p><p>“I’m glad.”</p><p>Way to predict the obvious. He just knew it. He knew it would come to this. He guessed that what they said about killing with kindness was true. He never wanted something his mother used to say to ever hit so hard at home-it was too much. It was way too much and he hated it. She was just going to forgive him just like that and he would have to live with it even though he didn’t deserve any of this. He didn’t deserve any of this and he would never learn because everyone who cared about him served forgiveness on a silver platter. </p><p>“You need some fun in your life.” </p><p>There she goes again. Telling him he needs it. Telling him he needs this and that and giving him fucking justification, never giving her piece of mind. The one time, the one time it was in that letter and that when he was way too far from home to do anything about it. He was a coward; she was a coward. It was a commonality amongst broken people. Life could do that to you. </p><p>Well, he’s had enough. </p><p>“Listen, I’m sorry about last year. And the year before that. That was shitty of me.”</p><p>There, he said it. She has to say something now. ‘Come on, say something explosive.’ Tell him off; yell in his ear; slap him; punch him; anything. Anything to tell him that she feels something and she’s finally letting him know. The letter couldn’t be her only mode of frustration. Violence was an outlet to him. He didn’t see the harm in using it. </p><p>He knows he has.</p><p>He doesn’t think she expected him to say anything for she sat there for a moment contemplating. He wanted a reaction. He wanted her to do something but he really didn’t think she would. It was a hopeless hope; she’d just be complacent in his actions. Like everyone. Like Hobie; Kitsie; Boris. Boris was like that. Was. Maybe he was just waiting for that reality check-he didn’t know. He felt like he deserved a bit of retribution. </p><p>“Yeah. It was.”</p><p>It was probably bad how much better he felt from that admittance. It was awful how much better he felt from that. It was just like him to seek some kind of relief from all of this, when he wasn’t even the one fucked over by this. </p><p>“God, I’m sorry.” </p><p>And he meant it. He really did. It may have hurt a little less to see his just desserts but he was still hurt from his own actions. The feeling had been twisting in his gut for so long but to let it out right now, out in the open and it was incredible how one admittance could tear him open and make him feel-alive.</p><p>“I realized it wasn’t you.”</p><p>He didn’t know if she would understand what he meant. He didn’t want to elaborate. If she could just understand without him saying the words… It’d feel like a miracle. And he didn’t believe in miracles. It’s just that he was getting emotional right now and she was actually telling him, letting him know how she felt and it was incredibly relieving, a weight off his shoulders. He guessed he wasn’t the asshole anymore. One more nice thing and maybe the world wouldn’t feel so haggard. </p><p>He wouldn’t feel like he used people anymore. </p><p>“You read my letter.” </p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>She knew. She knew and he had to clench his jaw tight to prevent himself from bursting out and saying something stupid. Blame it on the alcohol; he was always a mess with it anyways. If he could fall onto his knees and no one would see, that would be great right now. She looked at him carefully, a sheen to her eyes as he gulped down some air and bit down on his tongue, hard. He couldn’t do this right now. Not with so many people inside. Not in front of her. </p><p>“I’m so sorry.”</p><p>And she looked like she was relaxing now in front of him, for once, folding into herself and just a little desperate for a bit more wine (she finished her glass already). Maybe they had just made ends meet. Maybe they would be going places after this. She looked like she was nodding to herself, like she would give them a chance, to be friends. </p><p>He was desperate for a cigarette right now and he couldn’t help himself-he pulled out a pack of Malboros and lit up while Pippa was watching. He would offer one but he didn’t know the circumstance of their relationship anymore. Besides she didn’t smoke and he didn’t want to impose. He made sure to puff the smoke in the other direction, not wanting to bother her. But then she did something he wouldn’t have expected from her-the day was made for unexpectancies: she reached over, plucked a cigarette from his outstretched carton (he hadn’t put it away yet) and she took one to hold from her teeth, reaching out for his light as he stared, dumbfounded. </p><p>When she pulled back from the light she sighed contently, her hair falling back and head rising as she blew back smoke, hair blazing despite the night and Theo balking as she closed her eyes and let the nicotine take her. He took a few unsure puffs himself as he watched, not sure exactly what was happening. This wasn’t something he had ever thought possible. She smiled back at him, a little sad, and suddenly he felt like he understood just how imperfect she was. </p><p>She wasn’t that forgiving and she wasn’t that great. And she wasn’t afraid to show it to him; that crinkle in her brow and that tired face that showed sleepless nights and tearful days. She was hurting and he was too and in that instant he could see it in her face that they were one and the same-not really with the drugs but they took their poisons and drank them down regularly, most figuratively, while crying their eyes out when no one could see them and they simply could. Well, they were out with each other now. And that was okay. </p><p>They could hurt together. </p><p>“I smoke too, you know.” She told him and he could see it now; up in her little flat in London with the balcony open and Everett snoring in the other room as she watched the smog rise into the night. It was life for them: chaotic, awful, no good with the little sparks of something worthwhile floating around every now and then. They were <em> depressed. </em>And it fit them in a way: who wouldn’t come out of that without a few screws out of place? They were flawed and human and wondrously terrible; there was no competition for it. </p><p>They were too much the same. </p><p>And as they smoked a couple of cigarettes down to the butt and said not a thing to each other, each too caught up in their own worlds and each unwilling to break the silence, Theo felt a kind of camaraderie he hasn’t felt in a long time; there was this feeling that no matter what he would do in the future, no matter what happened, he had someone who could kind of understand why; a different in circumstance but the same harboring of something dark between them. Maybe there was something there, scratched and tarnished in both of them-it was hard living after hurt. He knew it and he guessed that she knew it too; they could be terrible in their times together, but in this instance it wasn’t so bad. </p><p>A few more puffs and they threw the remains away, slowly, with no real sense of time and space anymore. It was just them, the moon and the stars and the distant background noise of noisy men and intense discussion-Boris could be heard the most intensely from outside, his telltale voice the most distinguishable under all those philosophical mutterings. It was incredibly funny and Pippa even giggled from her side of the porch, ears red and cheeks pink from the cold. This was when he thought to go inside. </p><p>Together, they went back inside to the warmth, him opening the door to lead her inside, discussion merry and the men none the wiser-they were too caught up in their own heads to bother looking up-despite how late it was and how long they were gone. It was time for them to leave their heartaches and face what was real to them. Eventually, everyone had to face the music. Everyone had their faults, their fears, their bad days. And sometimes it wasn’t such a bad thing after all.</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Christmas Shopping</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter was so hard to write, oh my god! Took like a week to figure out this section.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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</p><p>Pippa and Everett planned to stay with them up until after Christmas and then they would be heading back out to London. Apparently they didn’t want to miss the New Years show at the Eye and were planning to spend the time with some old friends and some English beer. Hobie was incredibly understanding of their plans and wished them well and while the rest of the party watched him to see if he would make a fuss, oddly enough, he didn’t see the need and was for the first time perfectly okay with seeing the retreating back of his old friend as she ran to catch a cab to airport. He was okay with it and it elated him, the fact that he could be okay with it all. And of course it made those surrounding incredibly relieved, Pippa especially. But he didn’t know that.</p><p>For the rest of the season Theo went about the shop in a frenzy, the holidays being an especially busy time for little old women with deep pockets and class-act wusses with no idea how to spend their money, and having very little time to make a good decision, they picked whatever was the most extravagant, ego would take whatever he would suggest and thus the most expensive-those were his favorites. </p><p>The store was even crazier now with the current guests however. It wasn’t much per say Pippa or Everett that were the loud ones. They knew how to behave themselves. Never when they had visited was it that there was ever a cause for a scene (they usually made themselves scarce when he was dealing with a customer). </p><p>It was Boris. </p><p>Of course it was Boris. </p><p>Give the man an audience and you’ve got a show. Give him a couple spectators who would willfully egg him on and you’ve got a small vagabond of nerdowells in an antique store the size of any NYC shop bumping against chest-on-chests and Queen Annes’ as they yell back and forth about Khazanov and very heavily edited stories of him in desert of Las Vegas puking into a pool at 3am. Needless to say he hated it and would constantly try to drag them out of the shop, fingers wagging and temper high as he tried to prevent himself from scaring the regulars. Even Everett was laughing at the tomfoolery. </p><p>He was not amused. </p><p>Eventually however, his imposed “familial” counterparts deemed that it was time to close up shop and that he should “stop acting like an old man” (Boris’s words); everyone else had agreed. He could never get his way. After three days of vehemently telling them no and refusing to cease working (he had even taken to sleeping at the store), Boris couldn’t take it anymore, and in his sleep, before he had woken up, had dragged him into his car with an awaiting Gyuri and instructions to get away as far as possible. The only reason he had gotten away with it was that he had taken a couple of Vicodins the night before because he couldn’t sleep. </p><p>“Boris, what the fuck!”</p><p>He was in a car. On the beltway. In his pajamas. With Boris on his right and Gyuri driving. He moved himself away from the edge of the door as he frantically smoothed down his hair and bemoaned his attire. He found his glasses already perched on his face and thankful for that, got ready to land a hit. All the better to see this dumbass and put him through hell. </p><p>Boris blinked back at him and smiling, regarded him warmly. “Oh, good morning.” He could already see that twinkle in his eye that was already serving to piss him off. He debated opening the car door and just rushing out, but seeing as how his state of dress was in shambles (the fact they were on open road failing to account for his logic), he would easily be mistaken for someone from the rougher parts of the city, and definitely not wanting that to happen, he resigned to keeping himself in the car even as he was experimentally playing with the door handle; it was child-locked. </p><p>Figures. </p><p>“Good morning, Fyodor.” Boris’s driver commented and he almost forgot that they weren’t the only two there. He wanted to kill him nevertheless but he couldn’t. Who knows what Gyuri would do if he saw him punching his boss. Besides he didn’t want to leave any bad impression here, even though he was dragged against his will. He started to ruffle his previously smoothed hair in agitation. </p><p>“Boris, I have work!”</p><p>“And it is holiday time. Mr. Hobie even said so.” Boris replied easily. He expected him to fight about this. He had that look in his eye that told him he wouldn’t take no for an answer. That one he was usually weak for and that one that usually told him there was some type of hair-brained scheme involved. He wouldn’t be able to get away with it, even if he tried he realized. And he was in his boxers, practically naked with only a white beater to cover him in this December cold. He glared at him, defeated. </p><p> “What the hell is wrong with you?”</p><p>Boris didn’t answer, already pleased with him not putting up too much of a fight. It wasn’t as if it was his choice but this was ridiculous. Whatever he had planned better be something good. He owed him for this. He just hoped that Hobie wouldn’t panic when he didn’t find him this morning. Maybe he should make a call… No pants. </p><p>Boris was going to be dead for this. </p><p>He checked the seats in hopes it was in-between the car cushions. </p><p>“How did you even get me in here?” He asked instead. He needed something to distract himself from the pounding headache that was sure to arise. If Boris could supply him at least with some information, then maybe he could calm his raging pulse that was threatening to burst with the day’s activities. He could give him some peace of mind at the very least. </p><p>Boris didn’t answer though. Like the cryptic asshole he was, he only smiled mischievously as he failed to tell him anything as per usual. What was he expecting? This was Boris after all. “Gyuri helped.” was all he told him. </p><p>“And no one thought that was the least bit suspicious.” He replied sarcastically </p><p>No one saw and thought ‘That doesn’t look right.’ ‘We should help him.’ ‘We should-’ And then he remembered that Boris was a professional criminal that had stolen a multimillion piece of art right from under his nose and used it as collateral for deals for years without anyone being the wiser; he had escaped the watch noses of the FBI; he had gotten away scot free for years without no one being the wiser; he was smart and he was capable and his knocked-out ass was nothing compared to any of the other crimes he must have completed throughout the years. </p><p>He was suddenly feeling a little dizzy. </p><p>Boris was in crime. And had done things in his life he could only imagine. He practically lived in a movie everyday. Life on the edge; life of the party-were these his mottos? He felt like the two intertwined to make Boris who he was-some type of Burt Reynolds’s archetype with a need for a kick and run. He was Stick alright. And Theo, Theo was Rainy-he was there, albeit reluctantly. </p><p>That means he should’ve been dead by now. </p><p>“Where are you taking me?” He asked because he couldn’t take the threat of his racing thoughts and he couldn’t quite catch whatever Boris was going on about in Russian. He should really practice more. Being around Boris meant he couldn’t excuse it. But would he ever get to it?-probably not. He sucked in a breath to calm his nerves as Gyuri told Boris to “Fucking tell him something.” Boris coughed awkwardly, then turned around to face him, smiling. </p><p>“Going to have fun with American Christmas.”</p><p>Theo was very much close to facepalming. You would think that Boris would think things through, what with being an international criminal (which Theo absolutely did not want to think about), but here he was staring at him blankly like an eager child that didn’t quite understand what was going on. “Boris, I can’t go out anywhere with people seeing me like this.” He huffed. And it was logical: no one with perfectly normal standards of hygiene wanted to walk around in their underwear in the middle of daylight, or any time for that matter. Besides it was freezing outside. </p><p>He must have taken more last night than he thought to have been able to sleep through the frigid New York air. Maybe he should lay off the pills for a while. He knew it was a good idea but there was a fat chance of that happening; he knew himself too well. </p><p>Boris stared at him a moment and then muttered to Gyuri urgently. Gyuri replied back, a bit rushed and looking like he would smack him (Could he get away with that? It was oddly a satisfying thought). They went back and forth awhile, occasionally switching to Ukrainian when finally Gyuri made a sharp turn which swerved the entire car at a dangerous angle as he yelled harshly, sticking his middle finger back at his boss. Boris yelled back angrily into his ear as Theo was smushed into his side as he held on for dear life. </p><p>Not knowing what was going on, Theo clung to Boris’s side automatically without thought as the driver twisted and turned through backways and less than savory neighborhoods. He ducked down out of habit and as the two other men were bickering, he wondered where on Earth they were going now. Finally, as the arguing died down and they were in an area that was remotely recognizable, he peaked his head out just as Boris seemed to realize he was there.  </p><p>He let go of his arm. </p><p>“We’re stopping to get you clothes now.”</p><p>If that’s what they were yelling about, he thought they were crazy (not a far-out notion) but he didn’t say anything out of fear that it would start up again. No one in their right mind wanted an angry driver and while Gyuri had definitively lessened his road rage, he could still tell that he was very angry and he wasn’t one for liking this less-than-ideal driving circumstance. He didn’t want to die like this after all. </p><p>Once he realized he was in Brooklyn, he calmed down a bit, thinking he could just borrow something from Boris. It wasn’t the most ideal circumstance, but it was the best he could get. He just hoped Boris’s neighbors wouldn’t think they were up to anything nefarious-the thought made his skin crawl. What kind of situation caused you to walk around naked mid-December?-nothing good. It was a good thing he didn’t know anyone from around here; he wouldn’t be able to face them again. </p><p>As they passed one shady-looking apartment complex to the next, he grew antsy, knowing they were going to have to turn at some point. There. Or there. Or even there. But they didn’t turn. They never turned and as they passed from one place to the next, he saw themselves reach Greenpoint, a nice area and a place way too conspicuous for Boris to be living in. Then he remembered how Horst had his little apartment up with all those druggies and guys that worked for him, in such a nice and conspicuous place, and paled considerably. So this was how big worked-out in the open. As they parked at the front of a very nice building with a lobby and everything, he realized just where he had gotten himself into. </p><p>“This isn’t your place, is it?”</p><p>Boris could the tension rise in his shoulders and patted him harshly; it was supposed to be comforting. “It isn’t.” He said carefully. “It’s where I work. They will give you clothes.” And before he could talk him into taking him somewhere else, Boris was out of the car and already walking ahead. Gyuri was glaring at him from the rearview mirror, startling him and as he tried to make a rebuff and process this, Boris was already trying to open his door, prompting freaking him out.</p><p>“Your work. We’re going-”</p><p>Boris yanked his car door open right as he covered himself with his arms, scandalized. Boris tried not to look annoyed, but he couldn’t help it, already trying to pull his arms away from his body as Theo swatted him away. Boris huffed as he tried to disentangle his limbs away from himself. Panicking, Theo simultaneously tried to cover himself as he tried to fight off Boris which caused a rather comical scene of squawking and indignation, Gyuri rolling his eyes into the back of his head as he wondered why he had to deal with any of this. Boris noticed and frowned.  </p><p>“Wait. Give me your coat.”</p><p>“Potter, it will not matter.”</p><p>“Give me your coat.”</p><p>“We will be in and out. It really won’t make a difference what you wear.”</p><p>“You got me into this mess.” Theo huffed, serious. “Give. Me. Your. Coat.”</p><p>Theo was much larger and admittedly much stronger than Boris in terms of a fight. But Boris did have much more experience. However, unless he wanted to shank his best friend or dislocate an arm, he was going to have to listen, no matter how much of a baby he was being. Sighing, he peeled off his winter coat, a thick black one that was luckily a bit big on him, big enough to cover this scared oaf. Theo put it on gratefully and stepped out of the car. Really, this one. </p><p>As they walked up the front steps, the doormen didn’t bat an eye at his attire, relieving Theo greatly but prompting him to wonder if they really didn’t care or were paid a lot not to; he didn’t want to find out. Quickly heading towards the elevator, he tapped his fingers against his thigh as he waited for the floor number to ding. It wasn’t that he was entirely uncomfortable per say-the coat was quite warm-but the longer he was out and about like this, the more exposed he felt and he couldn’t help saying so. </p><p>“I look like a flasher.” He whispered and looked around as if expecting one of the doormen to appear right behind him. Did he mention he had no shoes on? He looked practically homeless. </p><p>“Will you stop being a pansy?” Boris muttered. </p><p>“When I have clothes on, sure.” Theo muttered and elbowed him harshly in the side. Boris scowled at him and just when he was about to hit him back, the door opened and he missed his chance. Theo snickered and went ahead followed by a very annoyed-looking Boris. He clucked in distaste at his actions like a very dissatisfied mother and couldn’t help giggling at the circumstance, grinning wildly as Boris tapped his foot against the ground impatiently which won him another shove to the side. The two ended up pushing and shoving at each other the whole time, Boris steadily elbowing him enough to try reaching for his glasses and just as he hit him in the gut causing him to lurch forward, the elevator door dinged open and they got to their senses. </p><p>Boris led him through a series of rooms, twisting and turning this way and that until they reached a particular door with a very intimidating keypad lock. They stopped while Boris punched a number to get them inside while muttering expletives. He caught a couple of them but it was hard to hear and Boris kept switching languages making it almost impossible to decipher. He punched in a number once, then twice and just as Theo began worrying about the code, he got it in and the door opened, causing him to snicker just because he couldn’t help himself.  </p><p>“God damn, Americans.” Boris muttered. </p><p>“What was that?” Theo turned to him, almost cocky. Boris wasn’t paying attention to him anymore, already walking towards a desk where a very pretty woman sat with a long blonde ponytail and a skirt that was not made for sitting. Theo had to look away quickly, not wanting to see anything he shouldn’t. </p><p>“Катарина позови Сергей.” </p><p>In a flash, the woman was gone, speed-walking in her stilettos to go do whatever Boris asked her to; he balked at the image. Turning to him apologetically, Boris tried to explain in the only way Boris did: just barely and leaving more questions than answers. “That’s Katarina. She will be back in a minute.” He nodded, already knowing that asking what she was doing would be futile as Boris launched into a story about her ex and her wonderful new boyfriend. Theo couldn’t care less though, antsy to know what would come next and just as quickly as the girl had left, a man just as brilliantly dressed appeared, making Theo feel nervous about just what was about to happen.</p><p>“Здравствуйте, Мистер Павелковский.” The man greeted Boris solemnly. Boris nodded at him briskly and pointed at Theo, startling him. </p><p>“Измерь его и дай ему вещи.”</p><p>The man walked towards Theo with intention; he almost felt like backing away. He looked like he could hurt him, easily, with his big muscles and cold blues eyes. He had a shaved head, stern features, bigger than him and taller than him and-was that a scar straight across his face? He looked like one of those goons straight out of a movie and unless he was with Boris (which he is), he wouldn’t dare go near him. But he was and Boris was nodding encouragingly even though he hasn’t told him shit. “This is Theo.” His face told him to just let this happen, and so he did. </p><p>“How’d you do?” Theo greeted unsurely. The man in question nodded at him politely and then offered his hand and, thinking that they would shake hands, but instead-in a sudden move that he was sure no one would ever expect-one of his gigantic, meaty hands of the man in question grabbed the skin of his throat, turning his chin up as he peered down his neck, breathing on him as he couldn’t do anything but stare, too surprised to be doing anything but and definitely too scared to even move and just as quickly as that happened, his jaw was released and the man gave him a once-over as he practically shook with fright. </p><p>“Very nice. One moment.”</p><p>And just as quickly he walked out the room and was gone as Theo stared at his retreating figure, rubbing at his jaw as Boris just grinned at his red face and tousled hair.</p><p>~</p><p>When Sergei (Boris finally explained who he was after a few moments of laughing at him) came back, he had all an armful of clothes which were all exactly his size-which was scary to say the least-and offered to help him change. He immediately declined just as Boris was about to say yes, still laughing, which he really wanted to sock him in the jaw for. Theo pointedly refused however, vehemently, and asked where the nearest bathroom was. When he came out he smacked Boris on the back of his head (just because he could) and saw to their way out. He was grateful that the bathroom seemed to have an all-nighter kit, one of those fancy ones with marble sinks and fruity-smelling soaps with combs and mouthwash. He almost felt presentable even as he shoved back Boris’s coat as he put on the camel hair he was given. He wasn’t going to admit that he liked it. </p><p>“How’d he do that?” He asked as they stepped back into the elevator. </p><p>“Used to be a tailor.” Boris answered absentmindedly, quickly assessing his attire. He should really pay Sergei extra for this. “He’s pretty good, no?” and he could tell that Theo would agree with him. He seemed to be a lot less cautious in his steps and he was fiddling experimentally with his collar as they waited to get to the lobby. He found it funny how much he straightened up once he had on a good suit.</p><p>“Where did he get these?” Theo questioned. </p><p>To save the trouble of answering, he quickly got into the back of the car and started relaying instructions to Gyuri. Gyuri had grumpily relented to whatever he asked as Theo scooted in, unsure of what would transpire. Luckily however it looked like Gyuri had cooled off and as soon as he clicked in his seatbelt, they were off with Boris of course not even bothering and Gyuri unwilling to comment. Theo thought he was taking life on the edge a little too far but he wasn’t complaining. Boris could do whatever he wants. He had gotten an admittedly nice suit. It was a win-win; he only worried as to the means it was acquired. </p><p>It was probably best not to think about that. </p><p>As they twisted and turned between lanes (definitely illegally), and Gyuri had yelled something every now and then, Theo had found solace in fiddling with his coat buttons absentmindedly, marveling at the sure way they clicked into place and how perfectly sewn the seam lines were. He felt a little bad for accepting it, even though it wasn’t his fault he was naked before. The clothes were admittedly really nice. </p><p>Boris had dressed him before, a while ago, but that was when-oh, no. He didn’t want to think about it. He shouldn’t think about it, but he couldn’t help himself, the more he looked at his wares, the more his pulse quickened. There was so much blood, so much of it; the red, encompassing on his sleeves and coattails, never being able to be quite washed out by his own fruition; if it was his own blood, maybe he could have been okay, but it wasn’t his-it never was. He could see his own coat sleeves now, a muted brown and a nice wool. It was different from the coat of before; color; texture; feel. It should have been of no consequence to gaze at the tops of his arms, now, when he was safe and thousands of miles away, there was blood. </p><p>Before he knew it, he was hyperventilating in his seat. </p><p>“Hey. Hey. Hey.” An arm reached to close-in on him and he felt it pulling him to its side, even as he was buckled in and the seatbelt was constricting his chest. Pounding chest, heaving, he shook as he could barely breathe, the seatbelt entrapping him. Boris made the move to click off his seatbelt-much to the distaste of their driver-and pulled him in as he was crushed into his chest. It wasn’t as if it was entirely uncomfortable but he was being smushed into a man who was surprisingly strong for his height and who was rubbing circles into his back. </p><p>“It’s okay. It’s okay.” He hushed and he was, admittedly, beginning to feel better. Boris immediately signaled for them to stop a moment-some back alley-and Gyuri obliged, not saying a word. He felt his breathing begin to even again, steadier, even as he was pressed up in the wool of Boris’s coat. </p><p>He moved away. Boris paid no mind. Straightening his coat, he told Gyuri something and looked over him, even as he bristled with embarrassment. Boris didn’t ask, only made a move to open his door to step out. “We will walk from here.” He told him. Boris flashed a pack of cigarettes at him and motioned his head towards the street. There was no reason for hesitation and he readily agreed, hopping out of the car after him. As soon as he got out and the door clicked shut Gyuri sped away; so much for a drive back. </p><p>Boris passed him his carton of Marlboros as he stuck one into his mouth, passing him his lighter. They had gotten to the edge of the street, right on the side of some brick wall, and for once, Theo laid back, not caring if his coat got dirty and closed his eyes, inhaling the scent. It would have to do for now. He could crush up a Xanax later. </p><p>When he took a peak at Boris, he found him watching him and he quickly looked away, rolling his cigarette between his thumb and forefinger. He hadn’t even lit it. ‘That was a first.’ He looked back again just to make sure and took a few breaths in silence, thinking about it; when he turned back again he still hadn’t lit up. Then he remembered what was still in his hand and reddened. </p><p>He was why.</p><p>“You want a light?”</p><p>Boris startled, almost dropping his cigarette but managed to keep it upright despite bending it slightly. He cursed, rubbing the crease on the edge and then dropped it; that sure wasn’t good anymore. Theo gave him back his carton which he took gratefully and lit him up, the tip turning to an ember glow, immediately sending off smoke in his direction as Boris breathed it in. There was a bit of wind today and some frigid weather to boot-good day for a smoke. </p><p>“Thanks.” Boris told him. He smiled a bit and then continued smoking. He had nothing left now so all he could do was watch and wait for him to finish even if it was awkward. Boris didn’t seem to mind though. He took his time with it, even when he started hopping from foot to foot and kept readjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose in anguish. He didn’t know what to do at this point and was a little afraid to ask. The street was mostly empty, save for the parked cars on every side and the mutterings of a few teenagers talking back and forth amongst each other. They looked grouped together, too immersed in their own conversations to pay them any mind. Theo couldn’t help himself; he looked between the group of guys and them as he weighed his options. He couldn’t help but choose his words, even if it didn’t really matter. </p><p>“So where are we going?” He asked gruffly. </p><p>“Hmm?” Boris asked. He still had a cigarette hanging in his mouth. </p><p>“Where we-”</p><p>He took it out. “Central.”</p><p>Theo stared at him with wide eyes and hurriedly straightened himself. “Why?”</p><p>“Christmas shopping.” Boris answered plainly. </p><p>“With all those tourists?” Theo wasn’t in the mood to push and shove. And with all those people around him: suffocating, consuming, endless-he didn’t want to think about it. It was one of those things he tried to avoid at all costs. It made him antsy just even thinking about it. All those grubby hands and warm bodies; they weren’t human anymore, just a mass of skin and bones. </p><p>How could he possibly breathe? </p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>Blood, smoke, concrete and sawdust; ringing of the ears and the taste of dust in your mouth as you clawed your way over bodies, searching for something, someone alive; the threat of detonance; the feeling of life loss; shame and pain and nothing alive but a promise and the expectation of a duty you didn’t sign up for. Now it was the opposite; life and loud and crowds and hands; the threat of death; the threat of anything and everything; expectations-that was the death of him. </p><p>Boris couldn’t possibly understand that. </p><p>“Boris, I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” He mumbled. Boris peered at him questionably and it made him nervous so he looked away. How he could get him to possibly understand was beyond him. Boris didn’t have the same problems as him. He didn’t understand him as well as he could possibly think and he thinks he knows this because he’s frowning with that stuck-up child pout that said ‘bullshit’ and it wasn’t, not by a longshot.</p><p>“It’s not easy for me, you know.” </p><p>“Come on. What’s the worst that could happen?”</p><p>Theo bit his lip to prevent himself from saying anything he shouldn't, his emotions already building and threatening to burst. What could Boris possibly know? What could Boris possibly do to keep himself from losing his mind? He was not God. He wasn’t some savior, just some old buddy who wanted a good time. What would he know about his problems?</p><p>“You know how I am.” He tried to reason. Appeal to his admittedly stupid teenage years. Past mistakes-he knew of those. Perhaps he could find one of those few times where Boris would finally get it. He felt his voice falter. “You know how things are for me.” </p><p>‘You saw.’</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“I don’t think you do.”</p><p>“I know better than you think. I’ve seen you in good and I’ve seen you in bad, Potter. You think I don’t know?”</p><p>He made Gyuri leave for him. He made Gyuri leave for him when he struggled to breathe, knowing that reality of the situation and it was just so much, the pressures of everything and that need to just be okay, to just be okay and walk it off (figuratively), but he couldn’t. He couldn’t and that made him all the more weaker. </p><p>“Come on. You need the walk.”</p><p>He didn’t want to admit his issue. He didn’t want to say it aloud. If he admitted to it, it would make it all the more real, never being anything but illness and mental instability and a druggie because that’s what he was, that’s what he labeled himself as and to have others acknowledge that-he always made it clear that he would never want that to happen. </p><p>Boris was different however if he thought about it. He’s seen him at his ugliest, the worst parts of himself and while he’s never been there for the last few years, he had the feeling that he would understand; every turn to the dark; once more, a bed and body; a rock and a hard place. He understood him, a little too well that it was scary how quickly he could see his despair; it was daunting to feel so exposed. With one quick glance he would know which made him feel all the more adamant to hide something, anything, to keep from being torn apart and dissected by knowing eyes. It was horrible how bare he could feel from the presence of one person. He never knew he could feel like this, in such a state of distress and relief. </p><p>“You know you can trust me.”</p><p>It made him feel nostalgic. </p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>~ </p><p>Like Boris said, he could trust him and it wasn’t as bad as he thought it could be. There were lights and people and the thought of merging into them and it unnerved him, the thought of becoming one with the crowd. Still Boris made sure to not lose him from his sights, steering him from shop to shop with his arm so as not to get lost. As soon as they reached the entrance, he would drop it but he made sure to keep him in focus, even though he was one buying everything. He had done his Christmas shopping a few days before. </p><p>In the end they came out with about ten bags of varying sizes, all belonging to Boris and of course he helped with all the carrying. Maybe it was all part of his plan-Boris wanted some free manual labor. It was a good plan if he ever saw one, but that didn’t stop him from being mad about it. One would think with all the walking they had done, that would be it and they would call it a day but of course with Boris around, that wasn’t the case. </p><p>Boris always needed his fun. </p><p>“Of course we’re going to a bar after all of this.” Theo grumbled. </p><p>Boris peered back at him, cocking his head to the side. “Do you not want?” He asked and it was a stupid question because he was tired and since when has he ever refused the offer of a drink? But nevertheless he felt a little bad for Boris, the way his eyes started to show his disappointment, as if he hurt him from something that had never been said and quickly took action to remedy the situation. </p><p>“I never said that.” He retorted. </p><p>“Good. Good.” Boris relaxed, relieved and Theo immediately felt better, even though he was going to be in for hell in the morning. He followed Boris to one of those trendy bars, with loud music and jolly people, the type that would usually make him sick and one which he would steer clear to avoid. Boris of course soaked up the energy of the room, excitedly hopping from place to place as he chattered with the employees and eventually had one lead them straight to the bar after a long conversation about one’s kid-of course he knew everyone there. </p><p>They sat down in an area of relatively comfortable chatter, not too bad but not deathly silent-you could find a spot like that there if you tried. Theo sat down relieved as he put all the bags on the floor. Screw Boris for carrying all the lighter stuff. He didn’t see why he would have to carry all of his things as well but lo and behold that’s what had happened. Boris didn’t seem to see his mirth however, still talking with their host from before: typical. </p><p>He was laughing, even as he was glaring at him to shut up. If they could just order now, something to take the edge off. He deserved it after the day he had. But Boris was taking his time and having a conversation with the person who should be bringing them shots and all he wanted to do was tell him to shut up but he couldn’t bring himself to do it, so he was just stuck there, watching and waiting while hoping that will just be the fucking end of it. </p><p>“Good to see you, Brian.” </p><p>Brian laughed, pleased. “You too!” He grinned as if he knew him, wickedly almost. It annoyed him to no end. Couldn’t he take the order and go? Sadly that was not the case as the two shared a look that only served to urk him. “Good luck with that little problem of yours.” He said. </p><p>He felt his temper begin to rise. Couldn’t this man just leave?</p><p>He began tapping his fingers against the grain of the wooden counter impatiently, hoping he would get the hint. He was tired, phoneless and absolutely exhausted so if one thing could go his way today that would be great, thanks. Luckily the server did, eventually, as he looked at him apologetically as he glared at the scene before him. The poor man looked nervous and he should be. He was in no mood to entertain right now. It was a day-off as if there ever was one to begin with. </p><p>“Do you know what you wanted to order?” The man asked nervously. </p><p>“A round of vodka for the both of us.” He didn’t bother asking Boris for what he wanted and was sure he would find his order to be accommodating. He would have never refused anyway. As soon as he wrote down the order, Brain immediately left, not bothering to say goodbye as he scampered off into the crowd. </p><p>‘Good riddance.’ </p><p>“Having fun?” He asked Boris. </p><p>Boris could hear the bite in his tone but didn’t bother to tread carefully, already knowing that he wouldn’t really do anything in public-bastard. “But of course. The night is still young.” He told him. “The drinks are still good. The women pretty.” He smirked as he saw their order coming. He thanked Brian and took a shot, satisfied with himself. “Are you not having fun?” He questioned. </p><p>Theo took a couple of shots, ignoring him. </p><p>“Talk to me.”</p><p>He didn’t see the point in it, truth be told. Why should he listen to anything this idiot had to say when all of it was just hot air? Dragging him back and forth wherever he wanted, treating him like some lost puppy as he followed him wherever he went. It was his fault really; just couldn’t say no. He didn’t want to say anything. He wasn’t going to say anything, just drink his shots and leave. He wasn’t going to say anything, he wasn’t. </p><p>Boris frowned at him. </p><p>“Why should I?” He grumbled. “We’re here to drink, right?” He glared miserably into the clear liquid of a glass and then took another. He didn’t bother to slow down and Boris could see his eyes on his share so he flagged a waiter to order them another round. It was just like him to know just what he needed right now, even if his liver was going to hate him someday.</p><p>It could kill him one day not that he would care. </p><p>“I needed that.”</p><p>“I could tell.” Boris responded. He scowled and took another shot because he didn’t give a shit. He wanted him to leave him alone, forget about him, but Boris was taking his time for once, sipping pensively which made him feel all the more worse. He was drinking like a fool in front of the notorious alcoholic like a sad drunk, too lost in his own little world to see much else. He was an alcoholic too but that’s besides the point. </p><p>“Were you happy today?” Boris asked him. </p><p>He had to drown his face in liquor to really answer, bitter at how quickly his mood could change; it was pathetic. “As much as I could be.” He managed to say. Boris took this in stride, nodding sympathetically but eyes sad, looking up at him and assessing his features for some kind of sign; something; anything. He didn’t know what it was but it made him feel exposed, even hated him for it. </p><p>“But not happy enough.” Sad eyes; downturn expression-it didn’t fit him. He couldn’t stand that look so he looked away, as ridiculous as it was. He couldn’t stand the disappointment he could see from him.  </p><p>“I didn’t expect my day to end up like this.” He muttered. He didn’t expect this at all. Try as he might, he couldn’t bring himself to accept it, make peace and calm the fuck down despite hating how he was making the other feel. He felt himself grow angry, hateful over the fact that he dragged into this mess, against his will, while he was sleeping no less in some sort of deranged elaborate plan in which he had to be the complacent; time and time again he was the complacent and he had no choice but to act on his behalf. Co-dependent; always an after. </p><p>“Do you hate me for it?” Boris asked him. </p><p>How the fuck was he expected to yell at that? Big eyes and complete and utter worry over him,<em> him </em>. Hobie was never so much as to voice his concerns or let him know he was-in the wrong. There was fault in that he was sure of it but for Boris to-fuck, he couldn’t stay mad at him. It was disappointing how easily he deflated in his presence. </p><p>“No. Didn’t expect it is all.” He muttered into his drink. Boris took the liberty to rub little circles into his shoulder with one hand as he sipped his drink. Theo failed to notice but it did make him feel better, even when Boris was smiling warmly at him. He made a move to close his eyes, relaxing into the counter (the bar was so warm that he just couldn’t help himself) and when he awoke, he could tell that the atmosphere had changed once again.</p><p>“I’m sorry.” Boris told him. </p><p>He looked taken aback by what he said and blinked blearily at him, as if it was a dream. But Boris couldn’t make a face like that in his dreams-it just wasn’t possible-so smoothing the wrinkles on his forehead he looked back at him, concerned, as the man in question sniffed despairingly; he had been crying before. It broke his heart a little as he tried to wipe the tears. Boris just started crying even harder. </p><p>He couldn’t bear it. </p><p>“Don’t be.” He pleaded. </p><p>Don’t. It wasn’t right for him to make such a fuss over him. It wasn’t his fault. He was the one with the crazy head; he was the one who couldn’t keep still; couldn’t take a depressant for his life and off the walls stuck to the surfaces of familiarity. He was fucked up and he knew it and Boris knew it, but Boris wanted to help him. Boris wanted to help him and couldn’t do anything about it because he was cursed since the day his mother died and not him. </p><p> “It’s all in my head.”</p><p>It was all in his head, this pain of his. It wouldn’t stop, no matter what he tried. He could dull the feeling, make it go away for a little while, but it would always calm back to haunt him in some way or another, just like now. He hated it and wished it would end but a wish like that was never worth it for someone like him; it wasn’t going to happen anyway.</p><p>He refused to pretend it would. </p><p>“If your head won’t let you have fun, we make it. Feel better.” Boris told him. </p><p>How optimistic of him. </p><p>He laughed. “You would say something like that.”</p><p>“It’s better to feel something than not at all, no?” </p><p>There he goes again. Did he think he was a savior of some sort? It was kind of laughable, the thought. Boris couldn’t fix him if he tried. “It might go the other way.’ He told him. Might as well rip off the bandaid. He couldn’t help him. “I might feel worse.”</p><p>“And that’s why I am here.”</p><p>He guessed he was. No matter. In time, he’ll figure this all out, how much of a fool he could be. A person could keep their head in the clouds for so long. One of these days he would wake up to reality and he would realize. He would realize; he just knew it. He smiled at his innocence which was really ironic because he most definitely wasn’t. He could keep pretending if he wanted. At least he was here now. </p><p>That could be enough. </p><p>“I will never let you feel alone again.”</p><p>And maybe he was right. Maybe Boris was actually telling the truth this time. It’s already been months and not once did Boris leave to another country without a trace. He was always, around, even when he didn’t ask for him and most of the time he never did, because Boris was Boris and he had been taken to having him stick around again no matter what. This was going to hurt him in the long run, he could feel himself realizing. It was going to hurt in the long run and as long as he expected an end, as long as he thought of something going amiss, that he needed to fix, that he needed to take care of, he was going to be hurt by these declarations. </p><p>Even if he himself wanted it to be true. </p><p>He never dignified Boris with a response, never gave him a second’s glance-he was too good for that. Instead, he drank his last glass, quick and without word before banging it against the table, hard. He had lost some motor function from the night’s activities so his movements were less than fluid. Didn’t matter right now; the morning could be a time for hardships. </p><p>“Another round.”</p><p>~</p><p>They did three more rounds before Boris dragged the blond out of the bar, even paid the bill without his notice and managed to get him outside without incident. He would have normally complained of the man-handling but at this stage of intoxication, he was by far unable to argue much. He was at that stage where fumbling had become second nature, falling about in a way which left Boris no choice but to support his other side to prevent him from landing on his ass in the middle of the street. It was by no means  a luxury (Theo was heavy as shit) and as he struggled to keep upright as he reached into his pocket for his phone, hoping to get Gyuri there as soon as possible. </p><p>“What’s going to happen now?” Theo asked, sluggish as fell forward only for Boris to catch him and use all his strength to keep him upright, which was rather difficult as for some reason he had taken to grabbing at his pocket as well, which was annoying to say the least. Boris swatted him hand away as he tried to dig his hand into his pant pocket, at the same time holding up a man much too large for him to hold up himself, but he managed to, even if he was being difficult. </p><p>“I am going to get you home.” He grunted out. “Call Gyuri if you let me.” He forced himself to not use explictives, even if Theo wouldn’t know what he was saying. He could always tell in the tone of his words what he meant and one wrong move could have him doing something he would rather regret. He was always finicky when he was drunk and if he were to humor him, all would be well. They could get home safely and he would sleep it off like all the other times throughout the years. He just had to keep his temper in check. If not-</p><p>Things could turn bad again.</p><p>“But I don’t want to go.” Theo whined. He almost rolled his eyes at him. Not now. He couldn’t do that. One wrong move and he could have the dumbass running away only to have himself chasing after him. That would be bad, very bad. “One more stop, okay?” He told him. He hoped that would get him out of his hair; it did. He stopped trying to get into his pants and even stood up, suddenly able to stand and walk about as usual which only served to piss him off even more cause why the fuck was he his crutch then? </p><p>He breathed in deeply. Hold it in. Hold it in. He pinched his nose in exasperation, even as Theo asked him where Gyuri went. Taking the opportunity, he quickly made a call and gave Gyuri their address, hoping nothing would get in the way. </p><p>Unfortunately that was not the case. </p><p>“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”</p><p>He sighed. </p><p>Not this again.</p><p>“No one does.” He replied simply. He checked the time irritably as he impatiently waited for Gyuri. He needed to hurry up before Mr. Big Man got any bright ideas. He could feel a mood coming on, worse than the one earlier in the bar and he knew he had to get him back to his flat, quick. But he didn’t have a car and he couldn’t drive, here, so he was stuck, with a drunk depressed man to babysit and the rest of his willpower to persevere. </p><p>Theo was exhausting. </p><p>“You do. You always do. You always find a way to keep afloat.” His friend moaned and he had nothing to say to that. If he said anything, it wouldn't help the matter. They’ve been through the same dance before, earlier even, and his answers had only made him want to drink. He had made the mistake of letting him drink so much. Once he got like that, it was hard to pull him out of it. </p><p>Maybe he should stay the night to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself. </p><p>“You’re so fucking lucky.”</p><p>It would be wrong to laugh. It would be very wrong to laugh, so he bit his tongue, hard, to keep himself from making the situation worse for the both of them and looked away, because he couldn’t look at that face when he was furthest from the truth. How could someone that smart not understand was a mystery to him. </p><p>“I’m really not.” He told him but he knew he wouldn’t understand. He couldn’t, not when he was so mixed up in the head and needed a good shake, someone to tell him that he was wrong and that he needed a good wake up call. </p><p>“I doubt that.”</p><p>There he goes again being stupid. He needed to hold that temper in, not waste it on a man who was not going to understand or forget in the morning. He was a blackout, through and through and a blackout was most dangerous at this time, when their eyes are glossy and they look like any minute now they will threaten to jump. </p><p>“Tell you what: I’ll tell you a little secret.”</p><p>That immediately peaked his interest and in doing so, he had solved his problem, even for a moment. He felt immediate relief at the fact that he was able to grab his attention so easily and marveled at how he was watching him with bated breath, like he was the only one in the world. It did wonders to his nerves and he had to bite his lip, hard, to keep in the moment and not think back, to old moments and older times, when times were as simple enough to allow him to lift him up and carry him home without a thought. </p><p>“That family of mine.” He began. He saw him watch him expectantly and stop for a moment, breathing heavily through his nose. “You’ve seen the picture. The pretty wife and children on the ski slope. Astrid. You remember, yes? I showed you long time ago so I do not know if you remember.” </p><p>Theo nodded understandably and he couldn’t tell if he knew what he was talking about or if it was all for show. When he got like this, it was hard to know exactly what he was thinking. He could be happy one moment and anguished the next. It was like there was a switch. Oh so irritating but if he didn’t want the hassle, he would have to keep him occupied. The thought reassured him that he was doing the right thing. </p><p>He laughed at this. </p><p>“Maybe you don’t remember right now. Better for me I suppose. You and that thick head remembers shit, hah.” And he tapped his fist on his head lightly to make the point. Theo frowned, not knowing exactly what was going on but not liking being made fun of. The pout reminded him of the early years and those days by his pool, drinking old beers and watching his glasses slip down his nose as he teetered on tipsy from his last bottle. </p><p>God, he was such a lightweight back then. </p><p>“No time for jokes then. I get it. What I’m saying is there is a reason I mention this. Something important you should know.”</p><p>If he could, he would get a light now. Twitchy fingers and the need for something in his system was keeping him but it probably was a bad time right now. He checked the time once again and wondered just what was taking Gyuri so long. But he needed to keep going, keep telling his story. Fine, he would tell him. The confession would be good for him. Too much was swept under the rug anyways. </p><p>“I never had them.”</p><p>There he said it. </p><p>Theo looked at him confused and he knew he had to spell it out for him. Because he’s drunk and his poor mind would not figure it out, the poor soul. Facing the incapacitated idiot, he locked eyes, serious, so that he would keep his attention-it did. ‘Too late to back out now.’ Too late to back out now.’ It was the right thing to do, whatever that meant. And so he took a deep breath and laid it out for him, loud and clear. </p><p>“They’re fake. I never had a wife and children.”</p><p>It was like his brain had rebooted, live-wired and shocked alert because now he didn’t have that dopey-looking face anymore. Could a man turn sober with just a few words? Perhaps he could and all you had to do was tell him something real, like right now and he would understand and come back to reality. Maybe that’s what was happening now and it was one of those few times where he felt the shock of the alcohol lessen to the point where surroundings seemed crystal clear and and for a moment, the drunk mutterings of a man meant more than subconscious thoughts. </p><p>“Why didn’t you tell me then?”</p><p>He sounded the most sober that he’s heard in a long time. </p><p>It was incredible how much it shocked him. </p><p>“Come on, why’d you tell me that?” He asked again. He didn’t have anything to say that would make any sense to him-how could he? He didn’t know exactly for himself-it just happened. Habit. Something he would every time he would meet someone. To lie was in his blood and when he saw Theo, engaged and alive-he couldn’t help but show him that picture. </p><p>“Asked for a picture from a friend a while back. Helps in sticky situations.”</p><p>That wasn’t a smart answer and he realized that now when Theo looked back at him, practically fuming from the nostrils, grabbing him onto his shoulders and yanking him by his coat lapels to snarl in his face, anger in his breath and this sharp look of betrayal that shattered any reminisce of a sober moment-that was over now. It was stupid to get caught up in his own head. He was dangerous now, that drunken state he had known for ages overpowering him and he looked helpless and enraged and most of all-disappointed. </p><p>“You mean to tell me you’ve been lying this entire time?”</p><p>A beat and then nothing. He refused to say anything. It wouldn’t help. He did however frown back at him because he couldn’t help it. He had his limits. Who was he to act all high and mighty?. What, a big strong man has overpowered him and he was helpless to stop it? This was no way to solve the issue. When Theo didn’t see any trace of an apology, he shoved him back, much to the distaste of Boris who started rubbing out any wrinkles as Theo began walking away from him.  </p><p>“I’m so fucking done with you.”</p><p>He had made a mistake. </p><p>“Potter, wait. Gyuri will be here in a minute!” What was taking the man so long? He was going to have serious problems if he didn’t hurry up. He ran up to him, trying to block him from walking any further by moving his arms about, which only caused Theo to scowl and try to push him away. When he got tired of Boris dodging, he just turned around and started to speed-walk in the other direction. </p><p>“I don’t care!” He yelled back at him. </p><p>“You cannot walk like this.” Boris admonished. Try as he might, he could not keep up with him and he cursed his shorter limbs for their ineptitude. Theo was getting further and further away to the point he had to jog to keep up. The wretched man was having him run after him of all things; what a cliche. </p><p>It was entirely laughable. </p><p>“Watch me.”</p><p>“Come on!”</p><p>He was at his heels now, gaining much to Theo’s dissatisfaction. Luckily he had not thought about running or he would have lost him a long time ago. “Don’t make me ask Gyuri.” He warned. He hoped the thought of another set of hands after him would have him rethink his actions, but no, it only served to anger him further. </p><p>“Get your little gangster friend. I don’t care.” He ground out. They walked at least a couple blocks at this point and Boris was getting worried, wanting to send Guri their location, but knowing that if he were to pay attention to his phone for even a minute, he would be long gone.</p><p>He was trying so hard. He was trying so hard to keep him satiated, but lo and behold, he just couldn’t get him to. And they had already walked so far. And they were already in an area where he had no clue as to where he was. It was hard in this big city to chase someone unlike in the middle of nowhere where it was just endless desert and they were the only two people alive. He was tired and thirsty and just really needed to pee. If he could just wait a moment, if he could just stand down, even for once so he could get himself situated then maybe he could compete with his wretched thoughts and even stupider inhibitions. But he was only a man. And men could only go through so much before they were at their limit. </p><p>“What is the matter with you?” He yelled at him and he knew it was a bad idea, but screw it. He could suffer the consequences later. There was only so much more he could take and with how he was acting; he already knew he was compromised. It was too late to back out of it now and he could care less of just what may happen. What may happen may be his stupid attempts to end himself and while he was already here, he might as well stop him, but not before going down without a fight. </p><p>Theo had stopped walking, thank god, and had turned around to face him, an eerie calm to him that could be anything but good. He was beyond angry and beyond exhausted-just like him and just like him, he was too stubborn to quit being difficult. Once he was enraged, he was enraged and nothing could stop him from releasing his fury. Only letting him have at it would calm him down and then he would be okay again, a nervous blond in glasses with lanky limbs again. </p><p>They were still young boys, no? </p><p>“What’s the matter with me? You’re what’s the matter with me. What with your stupid antics and plans you never bother telling me! What's that all about, huh? What’s your deal with doing whatever you want while I’m some lackey, a part of your business? Is that what I am to you, an extra hand? Something to latch on when there’s nothing to do?”</p><p>It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t like that at all, but Theo, being stubborn, Theo, never seemed to realize all that was being done for him, all the effort made to keep him upright. But here he was thinking he was using him, like some sort of pawn hurt him in a way that never hurt before. He had to stop what he was doing to collect himself, releasing his hands from their fist shape as he stared, shocked, and had to prevent himself from crying out, denying it in the street loudly for all to hear. </p><p>“I never meant no harm.”</p><p>Theo stared at him, icily, before turning, already making a move to leave him in despair in the street. Theo wouldn’t do that sober, he told himself. He wouldn’t do that to him in any other state of mind, he told himself that over and over to prevent himself from doing something he shouldn’t. Theo in the meanwhile was already leaving him in the dust; forgotten; hated. </p><p>He couldn’t bear it. </p><p>“Save it. I’m going home.”</p><p>He couldn’t leave him like that. He couldn’t leave him in the middle of the street, in the middle of the night, drunk and alone. He had spent too many nights like that. He had spent too many nights, alone, barely able to realize where he was. He was really being a jerk now. He was really being a jerk right now, an uncompassionate jerk with no sense of empathy and an ego of disgusting proportions. He couldn’t fucking stand it now, how he was being, how he was acting, like was the leading authority on a bad childhood, on a bad life. Well, he could learn a thing or two from him, if he ever felt the need to learn. He could teach anyone the art of the awful living, starting at age six when his father killed his mother!</p><p>“Fuck you!”</p><p>He didn’t know if Theo could hear him wherever he was but he yelled as loud as he could, hoping he could hear it, wherever the bastard may be. It felt good to say it. It felt incredible to just yell out into the abyss and cry his lungs out, standing there in the middle of the sidewalk, lost and none the wiser of where he might be. He should probably be calling Gyuri right now, but this was much too important and he didn’t care. He didn’t care at all. If he could scream his lungs raw, he would feel happy, elated even at the prospect that he gave someone half as much damage as he has to himself. </p><p>Just what he would get for trying to help him. </p><p>“Fuck <em> you </em>!”</p><p>He heard a scream. He heard a scream and it was Theo, alive and well and coming back for <em> him, </em>to ring his neck probably and it was probably a bad thing that the prospect made him almost gleeful, itching for a fight and wanting to pay him back, hard. Old habits die hard and no truer line could be said here and now when he wanted to pummel his best friend. </p><p>“Get back here!”</p><p>He ran at him before he got to his visage, charged with a hellbent spirit and the ability of a man who could function on incomprehensible amounts of alcohol as he jumped a man a head taller than him only to pummel him to the ground. “No! No! Get off me!” He yelled, trying to struggle out of his grip as he pinned him to the floor, his alcohol level getting the best of him. He was never the best at a fight and that could be said the same in the case now, when he was whimpering about under him, clawing at his arms in fatigue as he held him down.</p><p>“Get off me!”</p><p>But he would not, not when it was all headrush and he felt like he just had good blow, wild and free and on top, Theo right below him and right there, always there as a comfort, present and human and dusted in dirt from their squirmish, a rightly ruffled version of perfection reduced to a mess and he whooped in victory, the adrenaline rush wondrous as he basked in the moonlight and stars above them. It was an exquisite feeling, to be felt and heard from above, a testament to his strength and perseverance that showed that time had not changed much in their dynamics, age had just made them larger and as he basked in the ecstasy, he was reminded of one the things that had never changed, one that had been wishing to be different since the moment he had decided to see Theo again.</p><p>“I want my mom.”</p><p>He quickly got off to assess the damage while Theo laid there, defeated, a sight he had never wished to see again. He laid face down into the ground, absolutely face planted into the concrete as he moaned about his mother and the ‘what ifs’ of if he died that the world would be better off and yadda, yadda, yadda. He “needed to die” and other mumbo jumbo. It just goes to show that he was past this, all the more reason to stay and make sure nothing would ever happen, nothing ever happened to him to warrant such a situation. Hobie and Pippa were all well and good but he needed somebody to keep him satisfied, keep him alive and remind him that there was something else out there besides promises and pick-me-ups. </p><p>He had to know that there was a life apart from all of that. </p><p>“You listen to me: you will stay alive and you will be better.” He told him. He had to pull on his coat to make him face him which was quite a feat when a man was dead as a log and didn’t want to move. There was something grave in his eyes as he turned to look at him, soulless and defeated. He couldn’t help but want to punch it out of him, knock some sense in but he knew better than to do it now. He had his fun before and now looking back at it, he instantly regretted what he had done. It wasn’t right, to push for something more than what he already couldn’t do on his own and it was one of the worst mistakes he could have possibly made. He instantly wanted to turn back time, back to when he was just a sick puppy who wanted something from him, something he could not give but at least satiate, because it was all he could have done to make life a little better for him. </p><p>  “You will get better. You will stay alive because your mother would want you to and because there is more to live for than old furniture and working like an animal. You are young and you can make mistakes but you will like life because there will be something nice for you. I will make sure of it. I will always make sure of it, you hear? I know you tried to kill yourself in Amsterdam and that will never happen again because I will be here so you don’t go stupid in the head.” He had to grit his teeth harshly as he said this to keep from trying to shake him to his senses. It hurt. It hurt so much that he wanted to scream but he was all screamed out now. It wouldn’t help anyone to know just how torn he was as he looked at that broken face and fought back the tears.</p><p>“I care for you, you stupid man.” He sobbed. There it goes, the waterworks. He just had to be the emotional one-but he couldn’t help it. He sobbed and sobbed because it meant something to him, to be there and to-care for him. Because he couldn’t care for himself. </p><p>He couldn’t care for himself. </p><p>“Theo I swear to you, if you ever do something without me, something you will regret, I will haunt you to your grave.” He promised. He wouldn’t be able to take it-if something happened to him. Like him, he has been in his highs and lows. He had understood-the want for a high life. He has always understood the want to be great, to do great, and he always believed that if he died from something good, that was life. </p><p>But he couldn’t stand the same for him.</p><p> “I care for you.”</p><p>He looked at him with those sad and lonely eyes and it was maddening how much he wanted to take him in his arms, so he did, because it was the only thing he could think of to do and he squeezed his eyes shut as he listened to his breathing, loud and heaving on his chest. He needed to feel him alive somehow, and no matter how much he struggled, he needed to hear him breathing, right then and there despite how dirty he was getting on the ground floor, his slacks surely ruined but that didn’t matter. </p><p>“Like you can fix everything.” He muttered. </p><p>He didn’t know what he would rather do: kill him or hug him tighter-he didn’t know which he deserved. He was already a mess and it didn’t help him saying such depressing things. What was he supposed to do, when someone you cared so much about could break you with just a few words?</p><p>Do something about it. </p><p> “Doesn’t matter. I can be there. That is enough that I can help you and if you don’t want help, I will hit it into you. I will stay around, forever and there will be nothing for you to do on it.” It was a promise Theo wouldn’t remember but he would honor it, because he meant every word and if he didn’t, what kind of man was he?-the worst kind, that’s what. </p><p>“I care.” He pleaded to him. He did. He fucking cared and it drove him mad that he refused to fucking believe him. With trembling hands, he pulled him to eye level to make him look at him, look at him and see how much he meant it. Maybe he won’t remember. Maybe he won’t believe him. It was all moot point to care and would only lead to sorrow, but he just couldn’t help himself. </p><p>There was something magical in believing in that one day he would understand. Even if he wouldn’t look at him in the eye now, even as he was sobbing for a lost cause, it felt good to believe in something of an eventuality, that something could be done and he could keep him afloat, somehow, if he kept on trying. He could do something for him, be there, make him smile, for once in his goddamn life, smile and laugh and get angry, not be a puppet on a string and simply exist because he couldn’t-he couldn’t make the move to end it all. </p><p>He wanted him alive, and happy, and to say he was happy. He wanted it so bad that he didn’t know what to do with himself and it was awful, how he would lay awake at night and wonder, if he was alive and well in the morning. He had those days but it was over now, because there was something to be alive for, something to care about. And as he sat there ruining his slacks and comforting a down man like he only knew how, he shushed him as he himself tried to keep his breath even as he rubbed circles and waited for Gyuri to call him and ask where the fuck he was. It was going to be a nightmare, to explain how he got there but it didn’t matter now, not when his friend was at his lowest and if he moved, he may never be able to get him up. He would need the help but for now he was content trying to keep him calm, keyword: trying. </p><p>It had been so much easier where they were young. </p><p>“I care.”</p><p>And if he said the words enough, he’ll eventually believe him. Always on his tip-toes this one, thinking the worst has yet to come. He needed to tell him, again and again that it’ll be different this time, that a promise was a promise and that he would in fact stay, always. </p><p>Always. </p><p>“I care.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Translations:</p><p> </p><p>Катарина позови Сергей (KAT-AR-INA, POZ-OVI SER-GEY), - Katarina, get Sergei (formal). </p><p>Здравствуйте, Мистер Павелковский (ZDRAV-STVU-YTE, MI-STER PAV-IL-KOV-SKY) - Hello, Mr. Pavlikovsky. </p><p>Измерь его и дай ему вещи (IZ-MIR YE-GO I DAI YEM-U VE-I-ESHE) - Get him some clothes (formal). </p><p> </p><p>I made this cause I wanted to let people that no way in hell did Theo just fucking fixed his life and gone on with it okay, after everything that happened to him. No way was he in therapy. No way was he taking medication, going clean, stopped using drugs. No way in hell is perfect, just like that. If you’ve ever met a person with anxiety or PTSD-I’m sorry, I love Tartt too but her ending was too hopeful, too perfect. That was not the ending of the story. I refuse to admit that. She ended it perfectly wrapped and tidy, which, you know, is a perfectly good writing strategy and I still saw merit in what she wrote. But I have a bit of a problem these days with fics that say that “They automatically got better.” “They’re not taking drugs anymore.” “They’re perfectly happy.” No. That’s not real. That’s not how life goes and that’s not how the world works, how illness works at all. You see John Melaney, so many years without alcohol or drugs, and just like that-checked into rehab (I love that man. I hope he’s okay). </p><p>Life happens. And your shit gets rocked sometimes. There’s no perfect antidote to illness, any mental illness for that matter. These men are fucked. I love these men but they are fucked, not going to lie here, which is why I hope that to the best of my abilities I made something that really shows how life is and can be like. </p><p>I’m not saying I don’t like a good happy ending, I do. I love a good happy ending. Love them. I can’t stand the thought of an end where nothing was satisfied and those people that I learned to love never got what they deserved. It’s devastating, to me. Don’t you just want to cry? Don’t you just want to curl up in a ball and lie in anguish because you could not keep those you love from being consumed, overtaken by their own adversaries? Maybe I’m just too empathetic for words but I believe in a moderation in the anguish, because just because life can sometimes not be all that grand in its whole scheme of things, I refuse to believe in complete horror. I refuse. </p><p>I apologize for any pain caused but I fully believe in the merit at the end. I hope, dear reader, you see that as well</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. No Angel in Yuletide</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This title was a bitch to figure out.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Happy Christmas!” Boris shouted as soon as he entered the shop this morning. He had come later than expected, the season’s greetings had already been underway but as expected he made up for it with more than a handful of gifts and goodies. Once again Theo had no idea how he had dragged all of that himself but opened the door to allow himself to make his way in even as he dropped a couple of bags along the way.</p><p>“Merry Christmas, Boris.” He picked up two little black gift bags. He was assuming it was from when they went out shopping before but he could never be sure. Boris always seemed to have so much disposable income that it was too hard to tell. He put the bags on the kitchen table as Hobie filed in, overjoyed at the company.</p><p>“Oh, Boris! Merry Christmas! Come inside. Come inside.”</p><p>Theo rolled his eyes as Boris, almost too happy to oblige, scampered off into the den, bags bouncing in his arms. He was met with the party of Pippa and Everett, who were discussing their gifts and their plans for the New Year. A snoozing Popper was lying by their feet, tired and blissful in his old doggie years, when suddenly, he perked up, jumping about and screaming, startling the couple. Boris of course dropped his gifts unapologetically as he scooped up the tiny fluff ball in glee. One couldn’t tell who was the more overjoyed: him or the dog.</p><p>Pippa laughed, watching as the two rolled in gifts and old paper already torn in the early morning. Everett was smiling as well, silently amused at the course of events as Hobie and Theo watched from the doorframe, Theo assessing the damage, and Hobie laughing softly into his hand. It was a scene like no other, watching a man coat himself in glitter and ribbon as he made a ruckus on the floor, a blur of black and white, perfect and pure and completely reminiscing a time when they were young and as stupid. Laughing as the small dog licked his ear, Boris finally had the good grace of acknowledging the crowd around him, smiling about as they looked upon the scene with varying degrees of amusement as he laid back in the chaos. “I brought gifts!” He said.</p><p>“Of course you did.” Theo deadpanned.</p><p>It was Boris’s turn to frown at him, looking more like a child than anything with his pout and various shades of red and green stuck up in his hair. It was going to be a mess to get out, Theo was sure of it. But it wasn’t like Boris to care. As for Popper, that was another story altogether. He groaned at the thought of tonight’s aftermath. That dog was sure to vomit up sparkles and bits of paper over the next few days.</p><p>“Shut up.” Boris told him.</p><p>The two glared at each other across the room, even though Boris was being perfectly nice and Theo didn’t really have the heart to kill him on Christmas. It was just something of habit really, but the rest of them didn’t know that. Before the two could get into conflict, which was Hobie’s #1 worry, he began picking up all the gifts reflexively to put them into a more accommodating place for unwrapping. “You didn’t have to do that.” He told Boris uneasily. He could tell from his eyes that he was worrying, so, in a gesture of good cheer, began cleaning up as well. He was doing more harm than good however, the amount of glitter shaking onto the floor from his hair but he tried, earning a chuckle from Hobie and relieving him of his troubles from any tension that had previously arrived.</p><p>“You’ve been so good to Theo. I must those who’ve been so kind to make his family.” He declared, looking about the room for emphasis and doing so made Theo incredibly uncomfortable. He addressed each and every person in the room and suddenly the atmosphere changed to one of something softer, sentimental as Everett shrinked back from the gesture, sure that none of this meant anything to him while Pippa blushed madly at the praise. Hobie had seemed to be the most pleased of all however, even tearing up at the sincerity of his words, a couple tears already dropping against his elated face. A heartfelt moment seemed to be coming on as he hugged Boris warmly, Boris of course returning the gesture in full gusto. Pippa got into the embrace as well, giggling as Boris made a move to accommodate her.</p><p>The only thing that Theo could do was stand and stare at the turn of events, feeling otherworldly, un-being as he felt he was watching the scene out-of-body. Perhaps he shouldn’t be there at all, in the warm hearth of embrace and comfort, from the scene of a movie no-less, one of those that he would turn the volume to zero to prevent himself from hearing any of the words. But now it was right there, in front of his face and he didn’t know what to do because it was all cause of him, all him, and he could feel the expectation in the air to do what, he didn’t know, but all eyes were on him and he didn’t know what to do next or what to say to all this. It was too hard. Why did he have to do anything of this?</p><p>“Boris.”</p><p>He moved head to address him, even if he was squeezing the life out of the group hug that he had become a part of. He motioned Theo to join but he readily declined, shaking his head. He backed away further for emphasis while Boris frowned back at him, refusing to let him go so easily. Despite the occupation of his arms, he was still able to intimidate, somehow, as if he was supposed to be answering for some crime and was about to be reprimanded.</p><p>“They became your family, no?” Boris asked and Theo readily agreed, but that wasn’t the problem here. He could tell that he was causing a bit of a scene but he couldn’t just stop. He couldn’t just release his inhibitions just like that. He wasn’t able to and he would never will because he was him and such actions simply never came easily to him. It was hard and Boris wasn’t going to understand that.</p><p>No one understood.</p><p>“They matter to you, these people.” Boris told him and he was right, but that didn’t stop him from freezing up and not knowing what to do with himself. He was almost ashamed at how he couldn’t bring himself to move and accept affection. It felt wrong to do so, as if he didn’t deserve it or that they would think something of him when they were already scrutinizing his every move. Exposed; vulnerable; on the brink of tears.</p><p>Boris sighed,as if he knew what he was thinking which he knew was probably impossible but having a feeling that this was the case; it was how things usually turned up like anyways. In this case Boris could tell exactly what was wrong and he couldn’t help but showing his distaste for it which made it all the more hard for him to prevent himself from leaving the room and simply fleeing. There were too many emotions flowing through him and he had to press his thumb into his hand, hard, to prevent himself from losing reality.</p><p>He was a torture for everyone, he knew that. Even as he tried his might to keep himself from bawling from the kindness, couldn’t bring himself to be-intimate. It was too much and the thought overwhelmed him, as he stood there, jutting out his chin defiantly as he held his ground to prevent himself from trembling. Everyone could see it-he knew this and despite the fact, he gritted his teeth and beared it, even when everyone in the room had those lost looks on their faces, like they’re disappointed, but understood somewhat. It was not for them to decide what he can and cannot do and they knew this.</p><p>But that didn’t stop him from hurting all the same.</p><p>The room remained silent, save for the sound of breathing and the soothing sound of snoozy dog snores as Theo had to force himself to look at the floor, awashed with shame at the inability to thank those for loving him, for being there despite his ineptitude. He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve any of it, even as Boris attempted to smile at him apologetically when he couldn’t meet his eyes. He was the fault for the tense silence. He was the fault of the palpable airspace that had been created, by him and only him.</p><p>As the embrace broke apart and everyone returned to their respective seats in the room, Boris had marched over to him, offering a sympathetic pat on the back, hand reaching for him for a second before pulling back as if thinking better of it. He shouldn’t be touched now. He couldn’t ask for one. And as Boris made his way to find a decent seat upon the couch, he sighed as he saw the defeated look upon his face, tired-looking and seeming years older than he was. He could see the tired in his eyes, large and foreboding, looking like they shouldn’t be there in the first place-they had to be because of him. Nothing could ever cause Boris that much stress, even the thought of the risk to his own life. He would know, with how easily he had talked of death with him, like how easy it was to just die. He hated the look it gave him, how exhausted and visible it made him seem and he could just tell that that flash of disappointment was no accident. He tried to conceal it with the glimmer of a smile, but it was already too late.</p><p>He already knew.</p><p>~</p><p>The rest of Christmas day was relatively quiet after that, no one wanting to bring upon a fuss by any curious remarks or calls for concern. It wouldn’t have helped no matter what they would say and everyone knew better than to say anything to Theo on the subject. Thus, the time was spent in peace, eating smoked meats and baked goods, courtesy of Hobie, while offering polite conversation save for Boris’s rather loud, boisterous laughter. Theo had retired to his corner of the room, brooding, while the hoard conversed with ease. It did wonders for his nerves for them to have left him alone but at the same time had made him susceptible towards a strange loneliness despite the packed room.</p><p>Maybe brooding didn’t work for him anymore.</p><p>He could be lost in his own head despite the fact of that matter (he was always able to make himself spiral). It was a practiced art at this point, to lose himself despite the inattention, despite the want to break the silence, to fucking say something, cause he needed to prove that he wasn’t a coward and that he could be more of a man than was ever thought of him.</p><p>“I have something for you.”</p><p>Boris had snuck on him while he was thinking, as per usual, scaring the bejesus out of him and he expected as much from him, but that didn’t stop him from jumping at the touch to his back. No one was paying attention to them, he realized and the room was empty save for the two of them. Boris had taken his time to talk to him, now, which meant two possibilities: it was something important or it couldn’t possibly be good for him.</p><p>Boris had really picked his timing right.</p><p>“What?” He asked, because he wasn’t sure if what quite followed this. He was so far up in his head at that point that he sometimes felt he couldn’t determine between the real and the fantasy and he had to get him to repeat himself, for the sanctity of his mind and his sanity.</p><p>“I have something for you.” He repeated.</p><p>Him and the merry holidays.</p><p>He couldn’t say no to that.</p><p>Irritated, because he was stubborn and he had to be just that obnoxious, he crossed his arms at his antics, not in the mood to be swayed. He was being difficult, because he could and no way in hell would he apologize for doing what he felt was the only thing he could do.</p><p>He really was a prick.</p><p>Boris didn’t seem to mind however, instead giving him a sneaky look before he scanned the room and turned to him to make the point that they were alone. Hobie, Pippa, and Everett were back in the shop assessing new inventory (mostly to humor Hobie), but Theo didn’t know that. He hadn’t been paying attention to his surroundings much at that point, much to the advantage of Boris, and finding that they couldn’t possibly be heard eased him somewhat, even if he didn't know what this could possibly be about.</p><p>“I have to show you, out.” He whispered. He motioned towards the back door and he immediately understood what he meant. It wasn’t in one of the many bags that he had brought, those of which were mostly sweets and old furniture knobs which Hobie had greatly appreciated; he gave Pippa old copies of Russian novels that he insisted we’re not that big of a deal; he even gave Everett an old expensive watch, which he had greatly appreciated (Theo may have not had partook in any the activities, but he was a nosey bitch if you ever did see one).</p><p>“Not something you want to show to people.” Boris insisted and so he got up and followed him outside, his coat be damned. He had three layers on. That should be enough for now. Boris however, had never taken off his and gratefully covered himself with it, much to the chagrin of Theo. He could have warned him earlier.</p><p>“Okay, what did you want to show me?.” It was cold as shit outside and he instantly regretted going out, but he couldn’t leave now. He hoped Boris would hurry the fuck up and get this over with. He tried to warm his arms.</p><p>Clearly noticing his obvious discomfort, Boris was quick to assure him that it was well worth it. “This is good. You will like.” He promised and he hoped it was true.</p><p>He agreed to see it, whatever it was. He didn’t have a clue of what Boris could possibly have in mind but he just hoped it wasn’t absolutely ridiculous. A foreign trip? A pyramid scheme? Drugs?-Okay, drugs he could get behind. He hoped that was the worst of what he could possibly have in mind, but knowing Boris, you simply had to accept your fate and live with whatever was the outcome, whatever that may be.</p><p>He looked at Boris curiously as he watched him search for something in the inside pocket of his suit jacket, sure that it was a baggy of some sort and at one point he did pull a bag out but quickly put it away. He was then confused as to what it could be, not knowing in the least what he was up against, but then he pulled out a little white card and handed it to him with a strange finality to it after searching through his pockets in anguish. He stared at the writing for a moment, a series of numbers, perplexed as he adjusted his glasses to see what could be the fuss could be about-Boris was twitching slightly looking nervous-and as his eyes adjusted to the light and he began to make sense of what was what, he handed back the card, aghast at what he had done.</p><p>“Boris, is this what I think it is?”</p><p>Boris smiled, already knowing that a million questions were spouting about in his head and to silence them, pressed the card back into his hand, startling him as he gawked. This was the last thing on his mind of what he could possibly be offering him. When he saw that card , he thought the worst, maybe a clue to an opportunity or the card to some joint, some secret whorehouse for drinks and music and women. Now he doesn’t know what was worse: this or naked girls.</p><p>“The money is clean if that’s what worries you. Your own account. It’s here, in New York City.”</p><p>“This is too much.”</p><p>“Nonsense. You are the blood of my blood. Part of my heart.” He pounded his chest with his right hand for emphasis as if that would help. He had already given him all that money before and now he was giving him more, again, when he didn’t need to and had gone through all the trouble to set him up with an account. He had gone through all of that-for him. And with how he had been acting lately, he didn’t think he deserved it.</p><p>“I-I couldn’t possibly be able to repay you.” He stuttered out.</p><p>“And you won’t. You need it.” He clasped the card back into his hand which was already trying to give it back which had become clammy, cold. Boris’s hand was surprisingly warm. For what reason he expected it to be cold, he did not know, but it had become quite a shock to him as he worried over the ink bleeding from his carelessness. He looked between Boris and his hand and didn’t know what was worse.</p><p>“Potter, I will not take no for an answer.” He told him. He was being sincere. He could tell as much. It wasn’t like Boris was never sincere in the first place but he was the kind of guy who slipped white lies around here or there, the tall tales of legend and the stories of lore. Most of the time, he couldn’t tell what was the truth and what was fake-there was too much to sift through-but right now was one of those times where it was perfectly clear his intentions.</p><p>He did this before, the last Christmas he saw him when he thought about it. Right after The Goldfinch was discovered-was that his last Christmas present? He shook his head, mystified at his realization. It was such a Boris thing to do, making such a grand gesture, but still-he couldn’t simply accept that kind of amount again. Boris could see him assessing his flight-or-flight response so he grounded him, placing his other arm on his shoulder to steady him and slip away from his thoughts, back to the real world.</p><p>He couldn’t say no to that face.</p><p>In defeat he acquiesced .</p><p>Boris released him, relieved, as Theo quickly put the card away from the bank. It felt like there was a weight in his pocket, heavy with his guilt and his inability to help himself, but he wouldn’t say anything to Boris; he would have thought of it as an insult. Quickly assessing the situation, he pulled something out of his breast pocket, a little thing, gold and unwrapped which he was embarrassed by, but in hindsight Boris wouldn’t have cared; he could already tell by the sudden brightness reflected in his eyes that he was already curious.</p><p>“I have a gift for you too.” He told him nervously. “It’s not much, but I thought-you would appreciate it.”</p><p>He hoped he would like it. It was a far cry from what had been given to him, but if he were to stop and think, he would realize that Boris would have appreciated anything, anything at all really. But he wasn’t the type to think upon the subject and as his thoughts raced about his possible reaction, Boris had begun talking and he couldn’t quite catch what he had been saying, and asked him to repeat himself, which he did exasperatedly.</p><p>“Show me.” He said.</p><p>And he did, even when his hands were coating the item in sweat and he wanted to die, but Boris stared in wonder nonetheless, seemingly uncaring as Theo felt the comings of a heart attack come on. “It’s not much...” He started. “...but I thought the sentiment was nice. Thought it should come back home, to you. I’ve had it so long and it reminded me of you, but now you’re here and I don’t need it for that anymore.”</p><p>It was his old lighter, or more so his father’s, back when he had stolen it to give it to him so long ago. It still had the engraving, “MOTHERFUCK,” in big, bold letters carved into it. It was morbid to say the least and he scarcely used it since then but it has always remained in Welty’s room since, tucked in a drawer with care which he would look at from time to time, in awe, or moreso in sentimental bitterness, when he couldn’t help thinking about way back when, when he survived on party favors and old chips and the egotistical laughter of a Ukrainian with a nutritional deficiency and the inability to shut up.</p><p>“I guess what I’m trying to say is that you need it now, not me, or I think you do. Something for old times sake. If you don’t like it, I can always go to the store one of these, get something better. You’ve already been doing so much so I should have got something better, more expensive, but this was the first thing I thought of and-”</p><p>“I love it.” Boris told him.</p><p>And he wasn’t sure it was true until he saw his face, how it opened up and how he looked at him like had given him a treasure, which was silly because it hadn’t belonged to him in the first place. He had worried that he wouldn’t like it, what with how it used to belong to his father and how the man had treated him but for some reason it had felt right to him; to return it in the form of a gift. It had meant something to him, how those words were carved during a trying adolescence, when the most explicit of actions had elicited a satisfaction overwordly in its ability to feel fearless.</p><p>That feeling had dissipated long ago, when he had felt too adult for the world to let him think that he could have ever ruled it. He wasn’t that young and scrappy anymore and for the life of him, he had wanted to dispel that shell of himself that had made him feel so unable to control anything that had happened in his very short, tragic life. He had wanted a new start, a beginning, with a clean slate and something to be proud of. But if he had learned anything from life, it was that it was never possible for him. The past had always come around to revisit him, as it had now, when he remembered how Boris had slipped it to him when he saw how much he had admired what he had thought to be too flashy and unachievable to obtain.</p><p>Now it had circled back to a person it had been in the presence of not too long ago with its rugged scars and tarnished hilt. Theo never had the heart to get rid of them and besides, that was exactly why it was so special to him. The memories that surfaced from the carvings of a knife and the playful banter that followed had always been considered dear to him; he had only so many memories of that time in his life, so to keep hold of them, he had grounded himself in the few possessions he had brought from then when he had ridden all his way back to NYC. From Popper to Boris’s home phone number, to his old sweaters that would never fit him again, to a couple of band shirts that he had managed to steal and never knew if they were his at all-there was a fair possibility that they were Boris’s once-but that wasn’t anything of any real importance.</p><p>They had shared everything. Everything and anything. And now it had come to that point in his life where it felt like it was like that once again. This wasn’t a gift that was just Boris’s again once it settled into his palm and he flicked the switch to see if it still worked. It was his again, but at the same time it was Theo’s too, because they shared the memories in its golden hue, rough and imperfect like the days of before and what had passed since. They were intertwined again, in this feral cycle of life, where their selves were torn to pieces from time to time and they were forced to pick it up, time and time again.</p><p>Some were good at it, picking it back up again and again like nothing happened (Boris) and laughing at the brutality of it and some could scarcely exist without crying over the wreckage (Theo); some people were too much of the faint of heart; some were too fearful to live to the fullest; everyone had their faults and limitations when it came down to it, but as it he almost caught hypothermia from how ridiculously shrewd he and the weather himself were being, he could take comfort in the joy of watching Boris take his first cigarette with his not-so-brand new lighter and then offered one to him.</p><p>~</p><p>“So, you’re leaving tonight.”</p><p>Pippa looked up from her suitcase, startled, and sighed. A couple more well-aimed shoves and she would be off at the next flight to LHR, quick as a wink. They were all waiting for her, to see her off, Hobie, Boris and him, but he was the one to offer to help with the last couple bags, alone, while Everett called the cab and the rest had waited outside and it had been a stupid idea to come out of nowhere with her spare card key and just appear, but it was his best excuse to see her, before she left, to make sure that they were alright.</p><p>Luckily she was able to recover from the shock, and seeing him eyeing the bags already lined up for travel, just told him to sit and make himself comfortable. She would be ready in a minute. “Yeah, it was the best time for a flight. You know flying during the holidays is.” She laughed awkwardly as she pushed on the surface of her baggage to zip it up. It wasn’t his best idea to say the least. She really didn’t need any help here.</p><p>“I hope you guys are okay with it.” She told him.</p><p>It was his time to laugh awkwardly, finding himself unable to stand without looking like a fool so he had chosen to perch himself on the edge of the bed, ignoring how messy and unmade it was. He pulled on his collar as he reassured her that everyone would be fine without her, that they could survive a few months without her presence. The stress in her shoulders released somewhat from the reassurance and he found himself feeling reassured as well-there wasn’t a problem with her leaving anymore.</p><p>He wanted her to know that; he wanted her to no longer see him as a potential threat to her happiness, which he realized that he probably was and would take a long time to forgive himself for. He wanted to say something, he really did but as he continued watching her, politely, he found himself unable to say the words he wanted to say, tongue-tied, and once again now able to relay any of his feelings to her as per usual in their long-standing friendship.</p><p>When she pulled her suitcase upright, he immediately straightened into a standing position, ready to go. What he wanted to happen was never going to by his own hand, and accepted as much-at least he had the strength to apologize. But now it was back to that rut again, when he seemingly was unable to so much as give an opinion.</p><p>He made a move to take a couple of her other luggages, the ones on the larger end and roll them to the elevator and down to the lobby where they were sure to find a car by now-Everett surely isn’t that awful at getting a cab ready and if so Hobie could always find one for him-he was made for this city. They were on a time crunch here and had to hurry, get everything ready and go, go, go. He thought that’s what she had wanted; the way her eyes widened, open and cautious, like a rabbit ready to bolt, he thought that’s what she had wanted.</p><p>Of course, he was wrong once again. With one quick hand, she pulled on his jacket sleeve as he made his way to cross the room to get out the door. Their previous conversation wasn’t over apparently and while he was happy that she wanted to speak with him, he couldn’t help but feel a bit trapped, as she looked at him with those big eyes of hers and stared, long and hard; he couldn’t have broken free if he tried.</p><p>“Will you be okay?” She asked.</p><p>He stuttered in his movements, unsure of what to say. But he wanted her to feel okay, leaving, and not have to worry anymore. Smiling the best that he could, he gave her what she wanted, to relieve a friend of her duties and tell her that she can live again, live and live and live and believe in the fact that those she loves could take care of themselves. He loved her, he realized, but not in the way that he had come to believe; there was hole in his chest from every time she left them, every time that she had believe it best to say goodbye and hightail it out of there; there had been, an emptiness but he was sure but all for the wrong reasons.</p><p>She gave him a onceover like if she scanned him long enough that she would find one thing or another wrong with him (which there were plenty she did and didn’t know of), but eventually she did relinquish her grip on him, sighing and leading the way down. He followed her, glad that that was over and as they waited for their floor she couldn’t help but watch him, pensively, but he wasn’t about to say anything about it. He tried to focus on the task at hand and once they had reached the lobby, he had rushed out, followed by her and her tiny squeaky suitcase. She looked more than put-off. The taxi cab had arrived without a hitch, thank god, as she reached the party of awaiting do-gooders, she scanned his face one last time before beginning to heft her luggage inside.</p><p>They had gotten everything in with little issue, even the amount of foreign sweets Boris had managed to supply them that caused them to buy a completely separate luggage for it which the man himself fussed over anxiously, not wanting anything to get crushed. He should have thought of getting them something less delicate if they were only going to leave so soon Theo had thought but had managed to hold his tongue in the nick of time, not wanting to cause any inconveniences.</p><p>Hobie had looked like he would cry even as he smiled at the scene between Boris and the cab driver, looking as if he would get into a fight with him. The man had eventually shut the door to the front seat with a huff and then everyone knew that the couple would have to leave soon so as to not have any problems later.</p><p>“Take care alright?” Hobie insisted and was met with a strong hug and a promise to come back soon and call as much as possible. Pippa had even gone to hug Boris and smiled into his shoulder, promising to get him some British goods as well as some old copies of Chekov from their local bookstore; needless to say he was delighted with the idea. Finally she got to Theo who was unsure that he could even deserve a hug. Rolling her eyes, she glomped him, squeezing him hard which he returned in fervor at a loss for words.</p><p>“It’s going to be okay.” She whispered and then took a glance at their spectators, smiling slightly. He thinks he knew what she was talking about and took a chance to breathe her in, the smells of childhood and comfort radiating off of her which if he could bottle, he would, but it was good enough to just stand there and hug her like his life depended on it. He felt like what she said was true, that it could be okay, and he wanted to tell her that as well, but time was up and she had released him too soon but soon enough. She smiled back at everyone, waving before entering the car.</p><p>“Nice seeing you lads. We’ll come again.” Everett had told them cheerfully, shaking every mans' hand before hopping in himself and alerting the driver that it was time to go. The poor man grumpily pulled out before speeding away, cursing out an old storm in a puff of smoke at the flick of a wrist which Boris felt the need to stick his tongue at, even if he was getting exhaust fumes in his mouth.</p><p>When it was over and done with, no one but much said a word much less had a thought what to do next. Theo was still staring out into the busy street seeming as if he willed it, she would come back and tell him what she had meant by that. He had promised to write and call and talk earlier, when they had a smoke break and were avoiding Hobie’s last-minute meals (neither of which would have been able to swallow them down), but the despite the fact, despite his wish to feel at ease with her not being there, in New York City, at every waking moment: he still missed her.</p><p>It seemed like Hobie felt the same for he was sniffling gruffly beside him and he didn’t have the guts to comfort him, much less himself, so he stood there, even as the cars passed in front of him, whizzing past at monstrous speeds, deterring them in the least. He just stood there, unseeing, as one drove past at the threat of losing his foot.</p><p>“Hey.”</p><p>Boris pulled him back with his arm, tutting as he rounded up Hobie as well and took them back to their store for a drink. Boris had had a good one stored in the icebox in the back and had told them that tonight was on him and that he would cook, in their home, for them while they relaxed. He had brought cognac, Saligner, a favorite he had heard of Hobie’s passing and had swore that he could make a stroganoff that would go well with it. “The best.” He said.</p><p>And so, the two men had readily agreed, letting Gyuri drive them back to Hobart &amp; Blackwell’s with the knowledge that Boris would be attending to them for the night. It was awkward to say the least with Hobie and Gyuri trying to converse, both men of different worlds who each had to ask Boris to translate when they couldn’t find the word they wanted, but nonetheless they gotten along while Theo wondered how on Earth he gotten to the point where he everyone he knew would cross paths in some way or another through the presence of Boris and Boris alone.</p><p>He had kept his promise and Boris did, in fact, cook in their store. He had brought groceries with him to make everything and while Theo and Hobie started on the bottle, Boris had, in actuality, caused a small house fire and burned not one, but two pots before Theo had drunkenly taken over. Boris had taken the job as host, offering witty banter and mostly PG-13 stories to Hobie which he had gratefully accepted. It was nice, not in the Pippa-was-here nice, but nice, because Boris was trying, and succeeding in making them feel less alone. They may not have had her all the time, but it was nice to know that Boris was there trying to make the best of it for the both of them.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Anyone figured out I know a sizable amount about alcohol from reading this yet? No? Okay.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Boris Happens</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Mr. Loverman by Ricky Montgomery plays in the background*</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>New Years came and went as everyone expected it to. Well, as Theo expected to: getting as drunk as possible with Boris at a Ukrainian bar and being dragged out at 3am shouting gibberish and waking piled at the foot of his door in the morning (inside this time). He doesn’t remember much else, only that Boris was singing half the time and they had their fair share of vodka. Needless to say he didn’t turn in for work the next day.</p><p>But that was okay with Hobie. He only laughed the next day at their antics as he called him the next morning apologetically, wincing from his headache as Boris yelled excitedly about making hangover cures. He groaned at his lack of tact but Hobie didn’t seem to mind, only reminiscing about his early days and “young boyhood” as he called it. Theo didn’t know if he should be relieved or annoyed at this point.</p><p>“Nothing wrong with it. Boys will always get up to these kinds of antics, even at your age.”</p><p>He didn’t know how to respond to that so his best bet was to smile and wince as Boris chided him in the background at his lack of ingredients. Knowing that he could leave the store in good hands, however, he readily agreed at Hobie’s astute observations (as much as he could bring himself to), nodding minutely as he hoped he would hang up soon. He didn’t need more than one enthusiastic voice in the morning right now, especially when he was out of it and one was very loudly whooping in his kitchen.</p><p>“Thanks Hobie. Happy New Years.”</p><p>“Not a problem. You need the breaks these days.” It wasn’t like they were open on New Years. It’s just that he preferred to always be working whenever he got the chance; counting up the bills; going over inventory; assessing the competition through bi-weekly subscriptions to antique magazines and looking over current price sales. He was a businessman in nature or more so a perfectionist with a coke addiction (what’s the difference?); he liked to get things done.</p><p>But the morning was harsh and aches wouldn’t just go away. He went more overboard than usual this time-Boris wasn’t a good influence with these things and when you had a fair supply of the best stuff around, it was hard to say no. But it was a good excuse to relax and coke was pure and who could say no to snow white in New York City?</p><p>“Thanks.”</p><p>And he could almost see Hobie beaming back at him.</p><p>Just as he was about to hang up, in one of those rare times that Theo decided to act impulsively, he did because his sudden idea popped in his head so suddenly that he couldn’t just outright ignore it or save it for another time. If he didn’t act now, he didn’t know when he would get the chance to. He pressed the mobile to his ear anxiously, even as his head sparked with pain and he had the sudden dire urge to retch. He held it in though. This was important, he told himself.</p><p>“Hey, is it okay if Boris comes to one of our dinners one of these days?” He asked suddenly. He didn’t know what he was thinking but it was too late to back out now. “I know that those times are usually just for you and me, but I thought it would be nice to have him around, cook up a little something, talk.” He told him nervously. “I don’t know, it went well last time he cooked and maybe it would be good to do it again. It was nice and we could take turns cooking or you can. I don’t either of us would really mind.”-he was blabbering now- “but of course, it’s your call. If you can’t have too many people to feed, it really no-”</p><p>“Theo, that would be wonderful.”</p><p>Theo blinked, owlishly, because his glasses were large and he looked a bit owlish with those wide rims of his (It was why Boris had always been calling him Potter) and he couldn’t break the habit of reacting in complete and utter surprise at how ready Hobie was to invite him over. They did get along well though so he supposed it was bound to happen. He didn’t know why he was so anxious. Pulling himself together, he turned back to the phone even though he brain supplied him with an ongoing stream of questions which would most definitely never be answered because he wouldn’t ask them.</p><p>“Oh, alright. Well, how about we schedule it for next week? On a Friday or Saturday or something when it’s not too busy at the store. In the evening?” Hobbie didn’t even bother pondering it for a minute, already telling him the sooner, the better and with the click of “End Call” and a few seconds of utter bafflement, Theo had a date and Boris was coming over to have dinner at Hobart &amp; Blackwell.</p><p>He looked back from the phone to Boris as he took in what exactly he had just done-that was a stupid decison. He didn’t even ask. Embarrassed, he looked to Boris for confirmation that he wasn’t being overbearing; it was just something that had come to mind, suddenly to the point that felt the need to speak on it. “Is that okay?” He asked sheepishly. “Sorry, I didn’t bother asking first.”</p><p>It was justified for anybody to be annoyed with him for that-it was, after all, something intrusive but Boris just smiled easily, like he always did as pleased as a man could possibly be with being told what to do-which was not what he would expect from him in the least but there was first time for everything-and he had to quickly rid face of utter dumbfoundment before Boris would think to make fun of it.</p><p>“Sounds wonderful, Potter. It would be good to have food with Mr. Hobie.” He told him.</p><p>He only stared for a moment before he had to look away. Schooling his features to feign indifference (which he did poorly), he nodded smartly, seeing the matter as settled even as Boris smirked into his hand to conceal how funny it was to him.</p><p>“Good.” Theo told him.</p><p>He didn’t know why he was so pleased.</p><p>~</p><p>Theo and Boris spent the rest of the day lounging about, the television turned silent and an overall semi-awareness of one another in the room as the credits rolled and one movie from the next of some incredibly long television streaming special continued in loop with neither of the two the wiser of any of it. The hangover cures weren’t really much-Boris had just decided to crack an egg into his mouth, dripping yolk all over his floor while Theo ran to the bathroom to retch from the sight-apparently that was supposed to cure them. Boris had vomited right after but would never admit to it.</p><p>Hence the day was spent with Theo draining through his pain medications, Boris eating most of what was in his fridge and lazy commentary into an empty space. Much like Warsaw but none of the after-trauma. And he supposed none of the heroin. He didn’t take any of that stuff. Boris didn’t seem to mind though, passing around a few bottles of beer once he found a box in an old cabinet and just as they were getting over their current headaches, they were already drinking again. “The Slovac way.” as Boris had said it.</p><p>“You think we’ll ever stop?” Theo asked suddenly and as Boris frowned back at him so he made a motion between the beer bottles and them and as Boris started nodding and he smiled back, as the two looked at each other like idiots, idiots who would continue to fail for a lifetime on the war on intoxication and burst out laughing at how ludicrous it all was. Smiling faces, gleeful at the idea of a stop, like that was ever going to work; it was something out of idealism. Stupid. Idealism: neither believed in it enough to take a go.</p><p>“Yes and I have eyes on the back of my head.” Boris howled, slapping his knee and taking another swig.</p><p>Theo took a drink as well, defensive. “Hey, I was just trying to have a conversation.” He pointed out. He didn’t like being made fun of.</p><p>Boris grinned, seemingly satisfied with himself. He took a drink, his smile never once faltering. “Well, you’re doing a piss-poor job at that.”</p><p>“Fuck you.” Theo spat.</p><p>“Fuck you.”</p><p>“Shut up.”</p><p>“No, you shut up.”</p><p>“Boris.” Theo warned but he either seemed to take no notice or blatantly ignored him.</p><p>It was probably the latter.</p><p>“Oh you have something interesting to say, Potter?” Boris challenged. “Maybe not stupid?” He smirked, self-assured and Theo had to rub his temples to keep his cool. That and his head was aching over what he wanted to say. Curse hangovers. He should be used to them by now.</p><p>“I can’t do this right now.” He said. He expected an argument, some smart remark that would have him boiling and reaching for his neck but once again Boris had done the unexpected; he laid back on his couch and sighed contently. “Good.” He told him.</p><p>“Good?” He asked. He expected a fight. He expected complaints, badgering, annoyances, many annoyances, but instead he was met by a Boris, relaxed and preening and practically taking up all the room on his couch. His feet were pressing themselves into his lap and he frowned, as if his actions were more distressing than some smart remark.</p><p>Boris just grinned slyly as he affixed himself into a more comfortable position, his feet really in his lap now and without a care in the world. He was almost halfway on top of him, which made him twitchy and he started to move from his place which Boris greatly appreciated as made clear by the little sigh he made which made Theo stutter his movements.</p><p>“I can’t get up.” Boris admitted.</p><p>Theo glared at him.</p><p>“It’s too nice here!” And to make a point, he immersed himself further into the couch cushions, practically disappearing in the plush of it. It was a good couch, something you could melt in if you weren’t pent up full of nerves and could never seem to relax all the way-that was Theo if you couldn’t tell. He suffered under the weight of Boris’s legs before he pushed them off, going to get himself something to drink.</p><p>“Hey!” Boris cried. Theo looked to the face of a dissatisfied Boris and sighed, already knowing what was coming to him.</p><p>“I needed to move sometime.”</p><p>Boris groaned at his response, stretching his body further upon taking up every square he could that he left behind-the bastard-as he took a glass of water from the sink. Boris was not the type to be that accommodating, unfortunately, and in his absence he had made himself comfortable with the entirety of his couch, the only place comfortable enough to sit in his shitty apartment.</p><p>“Get off.”</p><p>But Boris would not, grinning at the fact that he had gotten him cornered here, unable to get his way. So he pushed him to the ground and sat back down on his side of the couch, because he wasn’t an animal. Boris landed with an “oomph” to the floor onto his side and scowled back at him while rubbing his temple.</p><p>“Couldn’t you have just waited?” He asked.</p><p>“And leave your stinky feet on my pants? Please.”</p><p>Even when Theo had made room for him, he had chosen to sulk on the floor, which was fine by him, less headache. When minutes passed and he was still there, pouting, he adjusted himself to give him more room, let bygones be bygones; Boris refused to pay attention to him. Now this was getting annoying. Sighing, he addressed him, seeing how far he would have to get him to stop being a fucking baby.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>He only turned around so he wouldn’t be able to face him. He sighed realizing that that was how it was going to be. He was really too old for this shit. “What do you want?” He asked. Perhaps he would choose to ignore him, being that he was being a little bitch and all. He figured he would ignore him but instead, he turned to him to frown back up at him.</p><p>“I’m sorry. I cannot hear right now.” Boris said to him. He found himself bending forward to glare at him which he did in turn.</p><p>Are you fucking kidding me?” He ground out.</p><p>“Is there wind in here? I hear a sound.” Boris asked innocently.</p><p>“Alright listen here you little shit.” He huffed and got onto the floor with him. Putting his weight atop him, he pinned his arms back as he huffed in his face from exertion.</p><p>“This wind is very bad, I say to myself. It is blowing in my face.”</p><p>“Fuck you.”</p><p>“What’s that? The wind can’t speak. Spooky.”</p><p>“For fuck’s sake, just sit on the couch.”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Okay, that’s it.” And instead of pummeling him to the ground or doing something even stupider, he took his hands and started tickling him, hard, to the point to the point that Boris was laughing maniacally while he was swatting at his arms, trying to get him to stop. He didn’t however, seeing as of how the tables had felt turned and he could hold him down whenever he wanted. He was bigger now after all and he could overpower him, push him to the ground, and overtake him if he wanted. Of course he had never thought about doing such but in this moment he had a clear advantage of his state of prowess.</p><p>“Will you give up now?”</p><p>“Fuck you!” Boris spat.</p><p>“So you can hear me.” Theo smirked. Boris was now amused. Slapping at his arms, he struggled, but Theo had him pinned down well, and no matter how good of a fighter he was, he wasn’t going to get a clear shot at him without seriously injuring.</p><p>He exhaled, gritting teeth to prevent himself from cursing him out, and as he moved his fingers across his sides, he had to fight back tears from laughing so hard and the urge to flip him over and pull choke him between his thighs. “Yes, Potter.” He said, angered. He didn’t so much as want to hurt him but sometimes it was much too tempting.</p><p>But there were worse things to consider.</p><p>“Get off!” He yelled, suddenly concerned.</p><p>Theo looked below him and grinned as he was pleading with him, which was all well and good but he didn’t move now, he would not like what he would find. “No, I think I’m good here.”</p><p>“I’m going to kill you.” Boris promised.</p><p>Theo only bent forward to get further into his personal space, really trying to irk him as he pressed into his chest and leered, having way too much fun with this. “You can try.” He told him. For a moment, they stared, at odds with each other, until thoughts at what he had just said sunk in, and he fell back, aghast at what he had just done.</p><p>“I shouldn’t have said that.” He said into his hand.</p><p>Boris said nothing, only stiffening slightly as he assessed his cover and then patting himself down of all wrinkles and creases he may have gotten from the aftermath and standing up. “It’s fine.” He said warily. It wasn’t for him to be concerned over, but knowing Theo, this could be bad, very bad. He could tell as much by the terrified way his eyes popped beneath his glasses, as if he were about to run away from his own apartment and leave him there due to whatever idea he had cooking up in his head right now; the past; the present; whatever else it could be.</p><p>“God, it’s not fine. That’s never fine.” Theo began pacing the floor erratically as he stood up as well, uneasy from just looking at him. “Fuck.” He said, rubbing at his temples. He couldn’t look at him now, his heart already starting to thunder in his chest and his ears were starting to ring, sweat dripping down his sides of his face as he rubbed it away. “Fuck.” He didn’t want to look like this.</p><p>“It’s no problem.” Boris told him and he immediately felt bad from the way he pursed his lips to prevent himself from saying anything. Just when he could have ignored it, forgotten about it, reality had to come roaring back at him, ferocious as ever and if he wasn’t careful it would clamp shut on him, refusing to let go. He couldn’t help but feel sorry for himself whenever this happened. It was almost too much to bear but then again everything was too much for him; everything and anything could stir his far too weak mind of his. He could only go so far before the knowledge of what he was would shake him, and he wouldn’t be able to find his way back.</p><p>“I’m sorry.” He said into his hands. Because it was the only thing he could think of doing to alleviate some of the pressure he was feeling and with those knowing eyes boring holes into his skull, he didn’t have much choice but to cower and plead that he would look away.</p><p>It seemed that Boris understood.</p><p>And as he waited for Theo to get his bearings, shrugged it off, despite how awkward it was, as if nothing was wrong and there was nothing to fear. Theo’s glasses were skewed slightly as he wiped his face and he almost moved them back but thought the better of it. They were once again apart, on opposite sides of the room, while Theo shuddered and Boris leaned flat against the drywall, tense.</p><p>Neither dared to speak of it.</p><p>After a cough or two, Theo spoke up which was surprising, because he was always one for leaving things unanswered. He kept his distance, refusing to look at him but nevertheless he addressed him, a hoarseness in his voice from before that sounds like an ache more than words.</p><p>“You’re still coming Saturday, right?” He asked.</p><p>Boris looked at him, surprised. “But of course. Why wouldn’t I?” He asked.</p><p>Theo laughed bitterly, like it was obvious something was going to happen. “I don’t know. I just wanted to make sure, you know.” He stared at his lap as he said this, afraid, unsure. “If you're busy, it’s fine.” He added hurriedly. It wasn’t as if they couldn’t hang out another time.</p><p>Boris didn’t like how he was talking much, much less what he was saying, so he walked over, bending downwards to eye level because damn their usual, damn those days of silence. He looked into his eyes fiercely, even as Theo looked to be overcome with guilt, trying to get away. But he wouldn’t let him.</p><p>“No I’m coming. Trust me.” He told him and he meant it, sincerely. Theo was just too sad to see it. No matter. He would see it one way or another, from his eyes to his declaration; he hadn’t given up hope yet. And as Theo looked at him, a little lost for words, he was overcome with an immense swell of pride in the fact there was something he could do for him. Be that as it may, there was still a long way to go before Theo would trust in him, wholeheartedly.</p><p>“Anything for you.”</p><p>~</p><p>“I can’t make it to dinner tonight. I’m sorry.”</p><p>Theo took a moment to cover the speaker of the phone and huff expaseratedly, his blood pressure rising as he thought about how insane it all was that he was at the point that he had thought that Boris could be counted on and then something like this happens and he gets [ ] this close to wanting to strangle the man. He should’ve known that Boris would be like this. He should have known. He should have known and he was stupid for believing-for believing in him?<br/>Theo chewed his lip, willing himself not to break out into expletives. Just when he thought that they were past this kind of bullshit, Boris had to bust it anew with another stupid stunt that had him questioning himself all over again.</p><p>“Are you serious, Boris? Hobie spent a good couple hours on that lasagna.”</p><p>He waited for Boris to give him something, anything of a kind of explanation. He tapped his fingers against the cash desk irritably as he waited for an answer. He could hear some kind of muttering in the background and that only served to tick him off even further. Of course he had business to attend to right now. Boris huffed, as if he could already hear him bitching. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, okay?” He barked back which only served to tick off Theo even further. If he really thought that he could just get out of this without any explanation, he had another thing coming.</p><p>“Boris if you think that whatever hair-brained stunt you’re doing is going to excuse you from-”</p><p>And then he heard the sounds of a car screeching, stopping him in his tracks. He could hear Boris cursing, muffled but otherwise distinguishable as the only sound human enough to be him was him and he could recognize it anywhere, anywhere at all. ‘There couldn’t be anyone else there,’ he realized. Otherwise he would hear harsh, boisterous yelling in his ears accompanied by Boris’s, but this-this was just Boris, Boris and only Boris.</p><p>Something was wrong.</p><p>“Are you driving?” Theo asked, incredulous.</p><p>Nothing could be heard on the line and the longer Boris refused to say anything, the more he began to worry. He was getting flashbacks now, of that terrible time on the Dutch highway, and sucking in his breath, he willed himself not to panic. This was Boris. Boris could handle himself. He could handle himself.</p><p>But could he?</p><p>“Yes. Yes, I’m driving. A bit like last time, hah.” But his voice lacked any amusement. It sounded like his teeth clenched as he was talking and as he listened he thought he could hear the grunts that Boris tried to hide like before.</p><p>“Boris! Are you okay?”</p><p>He could hear heavy breathing on the line as the car revved, speeding obviously and quite loudly in his ears, the time passing in horrible, unknowing minutes as Theo willed himself not to shout.</p><p>“I-I don’t know why I am calling you right now. But I think I need to say something.”</p><p>Tell him something. Tell him something now when his best bet was to concentrate and-and flee from whatever he had gotten himself into this time. He thought he could hear the sounds of a couple gunshots in the background and felt himself stand on end, willing, willing for it not to hit him, or his car and hoping that Boris had protection of his own, even if the thought still made him want to hurl. Why could he have possibly called him at such an inopportune moment was beyond him; really, it was like he wasn’t thinking at all.</p><p>Boris was cursing-that he could distinguish from all the other sounds-and then there was a screech and nothing and for one awful moment he thought he had lost him. Breathing harshly into the mic, he fucking yelled at him to answer him, say something, because at least hearing that he was alive was better than the alternative-that he was-no, he couldn’t think about it. He couldn’t think about it. There was time to get away just yet.</p><p>By then, he was imagining the worst, all that blood, and a car on its side, his head slashed against the window-oh god-but then, he heard a grunt of affirmation, that he was okay, and if he could only just hear his breathing maybe it would be okay and he wouldn’t faint, right then and there. It was heavy and it was heaving, like before, and the car was moving-he could still hear the engine-and it was loud and bursting at his eardrums but he didn’t care, because that meant that there was time for him, that he could get out of whatever the fuck he had gotten himself into.</p><p>‘Fucking live, Boris! Fucking live!’</p><p>“What did you want to tell me?” He yelled. Maybe if he asked, he could get him from insisting on calling him and getting him into this sort of mess, when he only wanted him to come over for dinner and now he was fighting for his life. It was stupid how these events had taken them; he had been escaping from a load of gangsters only a year before and now he was safe and sound at his antique store, calling about dinner, Boris was running away from something bad again.</p><p>‘Just how different were their lives?’</p><p>“Fucking tell me!”</p><p>As the tires screeched, he could hear some Russian and what he thought was Polish but he couldn’t tell because the signal was garbage and why the hell didn’t he upgrade to that other plan by now? Curse him and his stinginess at a time like this, when fucking needed it and the less static he heard on Boris’s end, the more he feared the worst, because the sound was the only giveaway that wasn’t dead, or worse.</p><p>“Okay, I will tell you.” He broke out. And as he held onto the phone for dear life, he waited for him to give him the go-to, that whatever he was going to say was going to be worth it. He wasn’t going to die. He wasn’t going to die. But he wasn’t going to leave when he needed the satisfaction of knowing that had told him and so he waited for him with baited breath as he cursed in Polish which he could now distinguish and his heart thrummed out of his chest in anticipation.</p><p>“I will always-”</p><p>He bit back a few words and Theo felt his adrenaline spike, wanting him to speak, but close to telling him to just shut up, shut up right now cause talking was stupid right now. But he couldn’t tell him that. He couldn’t because whatever Boris was trying to get off his chest was more important, or at least that’s what his gut was telling him now. What was he supposed to do, make the situation even more stressful for the both of them? There was huffing on the line, and then a swerve and static, and Theo almost thought that was it before the sound went back up to Boris shouting in explicits.</p><p>“-care for you.”</p><p>“Wait, Boris! What’s happening? Boris! What’s-“</p><p>But then the call ended and before he put in a word edgewise, he hung up. Angry, shocked and very much scared, he slumped to the floor, sinking to his knees. What kind of trouble Boris could be in, he could only imagine, but either way he knew in his gut that he couldn’t just leave him like that. He knew he wouldn’t go to a hospital. The only place that he’d go-he knew where he could be. Before he could stop to think, he was grabbing his coat and running out the door.</p><p>~</p><p>He must have looked like a lunatic, running in suit, tie and overcoat, in the middle of January in this frigid cold in a frenzy of haste and what clearly smelled like desperation. Those guys 8th Avenue were sure going to give him hell if they caught him after he ran across the street. Hell, they would probably be willing to run him over at this point. You just never came in between a New Yorker and the road; it was common sense.</p><p>But he did, and he most likely looked like a pervert or one of those temps on the run for some low-life of a boss. It could be either in this god-forsaken city. He almost wanted to kill Boris for reducing him to a bottom-feeder. Let him have the hell he’s in and that from his own hand if he thinks he will get over this.</p><p>‘Just you wait.’</p><p>He recognized the entrance of that old building that Boris had taken him months before and once inside actually managed to get in-Boris wasn’t the most discreet with passwords. He may have gotten lost at one point (no one would exactly know), but managing to find it, pulled the door to the point it banged against the wall and stalked towards the mediocre reception with an air that meant business, as startled, that secretary looked at him curiously, and immediately recognizing his face, told the two men beside her to stand down with just a look. Theo didn’t seem to notice.</p><p>“Where the fuck is he?” He yelled, huffing as he bent forward, hands on his legs as he tried to catch his breath.</p><p>The woman sighed as she began typing as if he wasn’t there. Her stiletto nails click-clacked on the keyword, loud and atrociously distracting. She frowned, like there was something gross in front of her, her red wine lips pursing. “Now is not good time.” She told him.</p><p>He grit his teeth, trying to keep his calm, but this was an emergency and he couldn’t just leave without seeing him, no matter stupid he was being. Was pride what was causing him from letting him? If so, that was a stupid reason because he needed to see him, now, before he broke the place apart and made a scene.</p><p>“Where the fuck is he?”</p><p>That plan seemed to be slowly dissipating before him.</p><p>“Please, we can’t have you come in at the moment. Please come another time.”</p><p>“I can’t come another time! I need to see him now!”</p><p>“You cannot!” She wanted him to relent but he wouldn’t. That ugly frown turned uglier the longer he was there and if he were wise, maybe he would have left by now. But screw that bullshit. Screw all of them. Boris would have to answer for this one way or another and if it was not now, it was at his grave when he was kicking him and shoving earth while calling him an asshole. So taking it upon chance and taking it upon those big guys in the lobby looking upon him wearily, he did the one stupid thing he that would get him beat, maybe even killed: he charged. He immediately got caught of course, but it wasn’t over without giving his all for it.</p><p>“Let me go!”</p><p>They wouldn’t. They were strong and he wasn’t and what he lacked in the muscle department, they guys seemed to have loads of, practically crushing him with each arm that held him down. It was futile-too keep trying. If he was lucky, he wouldn’t have broken anything by the end of all of this; that didn’t exactly matter to him though. His glasses may be struggling at the bridge of his nose; his suit may be completely tousled to the point that the old Chinese dry cleaners on 78th would have a fit; he may had gotten concussed in the dramatics of all of it; but if there was one thing that he had was that he could hold a grudge.</p><p>With clear aim towards the door, Theo did what any disaster of a man his situation would do: he threw his head back, hard, on the man that was holding him (the years of being pinned by Boris having some worth after all) and while he released, stupidly, he took his released arm and aimed a well-earned punch; he cried out. He slipped out then, twisting his other arm like a snake until he was on the floor again, scrambling to get to the exit. The two guys watched him for a second, baffled, before running after him, hellbent. The secretary was screaming, he couldn’t hear a thing over his own heartbeat, and as he was running for his life, all he could think about was that Boris better be fucking worth it. One turn, and then another and he found a big door with muttering coming from the other side of it. It had to be him. It had to be fucking or this was all for naught. If it comes to that, he would be pissed and rightly so.</p><p>He opened the two-way door, loudly, the sound resounding and he was almost embarrassed but that didn’t matter to him because he was already too out of breath to feel that bad about it. Everybody in the room was looking at him, alarmed, a couple even grabbing onto the guns on their sides. Panic was creeping up on Theo as he looked upon them and seeing a figure that most definitely was Boris in some sort of makeshift bed, ran towards him as the men from before rushed towards him yelling at him in angry Russian. The secretary came as well, explaining the situation in shouts and in nothing that Theo could understand nor care about as he shouted “Boris! Boris! Boris!,” attempting to get in between the many armed men surrounding him. One of the men pursuing him caught him immediately, and in struggling in his fury, continued to shout as he was being pulled away.</p><p>This wasn’t what he had expected it to be.</p><p>Furious, fighting, Theo was fighting with all he had as his voice grew hoarse and his movements grew futile. He was being held in a death grip by a man practically three times bigger than him, and while he may be tall, he lacked any strength that would aid him in this battle. The man was slowly squeezing him tightly in an attempt to silence him, and as his consciousness grew fainter, he would not stop, he would not cease fighting, even as his calling for Boris grew fainter and his vision swam with spots.</p><p>As his attempts to free himself grew quiet and the situation went further from his favor, all he could think was Boris, ‘What the fuck happened to Boris?,’ and as he pushed and shoved, he could see the increments of a figure growing closer and closer; he just knew it had to be him. He could tell by his figure, his stance, his wild curls. He was a mess; hair askew and greasy, sticking up every which way; he was wearing sweatpants, the first time in years seeing him anything so casual since they were kids and his chest was bound like in the movies when someone got shanked or hit, bad, and he really wanted to run at him, give him hell for making him so scared.</p><p>But he couldn’t.</p><p>The last thing he saw was Boris, but not by his side. He was enraged, fuming in his casual wear and cold, colder than he’s ever seen him in his life. Somehow he was more intimidating than he ever saw him when he was standing without his suit and slacks. It was almost like a different person was looking back at him, a colder and stranger version of criminal tendency and violence; and this time this violence was directed at him.</p><p>Finally he could see him on the other side of the law.</p><p>“Get out of here!”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Anyone else thoroughly enjoy watching Theo go absolutely feral? Just me? Okay.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Boys</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Translations and pronunciations will be at the end of the chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The night was made for the ages of fucks-ups and benders. It would be too much a waste to stop now and he wasn’t planning on stopping now by any means (he probably couldn’t if he tried). No one was planning on it: stopping him anyways. He wasn’t good enough to apparently. When being dragged by a couple Russian mobsters led by your supposed best friend and getting kicked out of this incredibly fishy-looking building with its way too nice streets and uncaring security, you learn a thing or two, none of which were good. The doorman didn’t even bat an eye as he was dragged out onto the street-he knew they were being paid good.</p><p>He had almost cried when they left him there. Being as sober as he could possibly be and still being as fucked up as he was, it was daunting that even in the absence of hard drugs, he could be reduced to that: a crying, squealing mess. He didn’t want to think about it- how he got home; how he had gotten into this crap. He only wanted one thing as any other person in his situation could possibly want: to remember as little as possible.</p><p>After a time he had drunk; a bottle, no two. He couldn’t count anymore. His eyes were watering and his brain was turning to mush. He couldn’t even think. Breathe. It wasn’t even worth pretending he was having a good time; no music; no background (he had forgotten to turn on the television). All of that would have reminded him of Boris anyways. Getting fucked always reminded him of Boris. If he can get as fucked up as possible, if he could lose the ability to think, comprehend, be his anxiety-riddled self, maybe he could go on and have something of a semi-normal livelihood. But he wasn’t built that way. And the more he continued to think-or try to, the more he wanted to use to forget that he had a cohesive thought in the first place.</p><p>It really was his brain driving him to all hell and here he was being strapped-up to the ride. It sucked. It was miserable. It was disgusting-his fucking habits. But he didn’t really know how to cope and this was the best he could do, alright? This was all he could do now and it was all that was going to matter to him in the next few hours. Give him something to live through. Give him something to fall into. It was what he deserved at this point. Let him feel the fake glory of a headrush; let him scorch his synapses, again and again; let him crave.</p><p>It was all he had left.</p><p>When the going got down to it, he was really that pathetic. He took a few gulps of Absolut-no need to pace himself-and laid back as his insides buzzed and head swirled with that heavy heady feeling and he was taken back to those good feelings of fire in flesh. It was like a glorious descent to the end, fire burning from simple smoke to the ashes of before, because a bender was just like that: consuming.</p><p>He was at that point where he didn’t exactly care that he was at his breaking point, because he was at his breaking point and nothing mattered anymore. Coherence didn’t matter anymore. Nothing. Fucking. Mattered. So what do you do when nothing fucking mattered anymore?-you took it into your own hands and you didn’t care what would happen to you. All you needed was release. All he needed was release.</p><p>So here he was at the end of his rope acting like a dumbass forgetting time and space on his couch when comes a knocking at his door (he remembered to lock it somehow), a loud one at that that he chose to ignore. So ignored he did, until it came back, louder and harder and sounding like whoever it was was going to break his door down. His head was ringing at that point, more than it should have, the calm of eventual death absolutely shattered leaving only annoyance and the wish to break the arm of whoever was causing the sound.</p><p>‘So much for a good buzz.’</p><p>Opening the door, he was met with the last person that he would expect: Boris, pale, injured, and furious pushed past him to enter his flat as Theo could only watch, sure that what he was seeing was sort of a mirage. If his thoughts were coming back to haunt him the least he could do was give him a warning of sorts. He didn’t think he had gotten to the point of hallucination just yet. Perhaps he should be labeling his drugs better.</p><p>“Potter, what the fuck is the matter with you? You know you could have been followed, no? To think you could be such an idiot!”</p><p>Theo, trying to get his bearings, blinked rapidly as Boris continued to swear in every language that he knew. Fierce, raging and ready to punch him in the face, Boris was a man under possession, hellbent on giving him a piece of his mind despite his condition, and worried for his safety-somehow he could still be worried for his safety, Theo finally snapped out of to put a hand on his arm to prevent him from doing something stupid (he was tangible after all), like ripping open his own stitches.</p><p>With one livid swipe, Boris had punched him, hard, across the face out of reflex over the motion he had made. In an instant, Theo had tasted blood, the punch over before he could fully process it.They stared at each other, no words, as they realized what had just happened. Distantly, Theo could tell that his face was throbbing, but the pain didn't register. Eyes ablaze, Boris looked back at him in fury as he huffed, ready to throw another punch before Theo’s nose began to drip all over his carpet.</p><p>Boris swore as he shook his hand in fright.</p><p>“Put your head up.” Boris barked at him as he ran towards his bathroom.</p><p>Dazed, he listened as he felt a strong grip reach for him in a moment’s notice, tipping his head up. Boris was on his tip-toes, shushing whatever noise he must have been making as he worked to keep his face upright.</p><p>“Not broken.” He heard him mumble. There was a distinctly strong smell of alcohol on his breath coming off in waves against his skin.</p><p>While the confirmation had infinitely relieved him, still, he didn’t want to be manhandled, much less from someone who was clearly injured, and mustering all the strength he had, swatted Boris’s hand away and pinched his own nose as he tried to stand up, shaking slightly. Of course Boris chose to ignore him, placing his hands on his back to sit him right back down-the bastard, as he moved to pull Theo’s hands away to check the blood.</p><p>“Hands off.” He growled.</p><p>Boris scowled at him, pulling at his hand and muttering about difficult Americans. Theo didn’t relent though, instead slapping his hands as Boris huffed, unamused. Theo let out a frustrated growl at this, anxious and angry and ready to fight at moment’s notice. He didn’t know what Boris was thinking, attending to someone else’s wounds when he had already been through the gutter. Mouth tight, he felt a lump in his throat at the thought that he was seriously injured and in a fit of white-hot fury, he couldn’t help but yank his arm away from his chest in an attempt to take the best look at the damage while Boris struggled against his grip.</p><p>You’re hurt!” He shrieked.</p><p>“This?” He looked down at his chest and chuckled, waving him off. “Pshaw. This is nothing.” He smiled good-naturally while pulling at his arm. The fake smile didn’t do justice to the situation, and if anything, it only served to piss off Theo even more.</p><p>Theo frowned. “It doesn’t look like nothing.” And as he said this, he made a move to unbutton his shirt, exposing his bandaged chest as he tried to get a closer look. Boris pulled on his coat irritably. He frowned, face set.</p><p>“I’m not having this conversation.” He said.</p><p>“You were hurt, Boris.” Theo tried.</p><p>Boris just shook his head like he could will him away. “Drugs made me stupid.” He muttered. “Should have never called you!”</p><p>Theo shrinked at that, but wasn’t going to back down. He knew that Boris was hurt and angry (he never was the type to admit anything). But he had to do something. He couldn’t just let him do what he wanted this time. Maybe he was still under something. Maybe he was just fed up, but something was telling him that he could not just let this go. It became paramount to him that the more time wasted here, arguing, the less time he had to assess how bad his wounds were. And he didn’t want to leave him in a bad position. He needed to know.</p><p>“Let me see.”</p><p>Boris snarled, pulling his coat tighter. “No!”</p><p>So he was going to have to do this the hard way. Boris was always the type to go for the hard way anyhow. Stupid, stubborn Borris.</p><p>“Let me see!” He yelled.</p><p>“No!” He screamed.</p><p>“Boris, let me see!” And he reached for him, clawing at his jacket (which he most definitely shouldn’t be doing) as Boris yelled at him in three different languages while hitting him in the head. Undeterred, he continued to try to pry that stupid coat off as Boris made a racket, screaming in his ears to the point his hearing was getting fuzzy.</p><p>He wasn’t to go down without a fight, so against his better judgement, against a person with a gunshot wound, a gash from a knife fight, he didn’t know, he managed to pry off his layers as he struggled against him in a fury of limbs and punches.</p><p>The coat was off.</p><p>And he had torn the buttons of his shirt clean off.</p><p>“Now look what you’ve done!” He cried. His chest was bandaged tightly, the outline of his skin against the gauze almost the same in color. He was pale, so, so pale even against the white of the bandages tucked around his chest that the wraps almost disappeared into the milky white.</p><p>But there was no hint of blood.</p><p>He let out a sigh of a relief.</p><p>Theo had had Boris’s wrists in his grip while he looked over him, using his weight to keep him pinned so he could assess the screaming heathen to the best of his ability. But in relief he had let his guard down, and in one swift kick, Theo was knocked onto the ground as Boris yanked his arms away. He had gotten up, seething as he looked onto his shirt.</p><p>“What is wrong with you?” He yelled, peering at his chest in distaste as he attempted to pull the fabric of his shirt closer to himself. It didn’t work. All he got in response was the telltale groaning of Theodore Decker on the floor. The blood from Theo’s nose rubbed further into the carpet and in the scuffle had dried into an angry cakey red on his face. Boris’s hand was still covered in blood.</p><p>Boris grimaced at the scene before him and hearing the groaning from the floor getting louder, he harrumped in defeat as he made way to pull Theo up to his feet. He outstretched his hand to him, patiently waiting for him to gain leverage and just as Theo did, he yanked him to the floor beside him followed by startling yelp.</p><p>“Fuck you!” He lashed out as Theo started laughing, the caked blood forming cracks on his face as he burst out into cackles. Boris looked at him, stern, as he took a finger and licked it, rubbing against Theo’s face, cleaning up some of the blood as he pursed his lips in distaste at the mess.</p><p>Theo stopped as he tried to remember why this felt so familiar.</p><p>“You should get clean.” Boris muttered before stepping away. He walked into the other room and he immediately felt a sense of panic from it; he was steps away from his door. He could hear his footsteps getting further and further away and it put him on-edge. It was the middle of the night and Boris had no working shirt on, no less he was wounded and most definitely alone.</p><p>“Boris! Wait!”</p><p>He hadn’t gotten off the floor.</p><p>He jumped up and walked towards his front door. Boris was just reaching his door handle and turned, gloomy. That face left Theo in his tracks, not knowing what to say.</p><p>“What do you want?” Boris asked and Theo was struck by how hurt he sounded. He must have stared for a good minute because Boris then turned away.</p><p>“Stay here. The night.” He blurted suddenly. He didn't know why he was saying this but it was something-he could grow some balls after all. “Stay here. With me. You clothes and it’s cold out. It’s my place anyways.”</p><p>Boris looked at him in surprise, because this was most certainly out of the norm and it was most certainly something that only Theo would say only from a gun to his head or at his low. If he thinks back to their last time in Vegas together, he is faced with the sorrowful look of a boy clinging to one hope: that he’d come with him. He was supposed to come. But he didn’t. He didn’t but more than that… And then he remembers what he did back then and is met with white-hot shame.</p><p>He meets his eyes hard on, glaring and disbelieving of the ineptitude this man could carry. He felt rage, more so than before starting up and damn it all, it didn’t matter if he was bleeding. “Oh? Your place? And that’s so much better.” He replied sarcastically. He was stepping towards him, just as fiercely as he had when he first came in.</p><p>Theo blinked, bewildered. “I’m sorry?”</p><p>Boris laughed at this, mirthless. “Oh you’re sorry, speaking proper English now, Potter?” He was reaching for him now and distantly he thought back to the swing that happened moments ago; he kept his distance.</p><p>“What is your problem?” He yelled. He was used to Boris, fists balling, shrieks and punches, sometimes playful, sometimes hard. But this hasn’t happened for ages now. Boris hasn’t been violent to him for a long time. He hasn’t either, he thought belatedly. Is this what was going to happen to them eventually? Would they become shadows of their former selves?</p><p>“My problem? What is your problem?” Boris yelled and tried to punch him, again. He felt like he was running away; in his own home, he was running away. This could not be good for Boris’s wounds.</p><p>“Now look-”</p><p>“No, you look here, Mr. Smartface! I am done with your whining and your crying! I have had you and you’re crazy!” He screeched. But it looked like he was the one acting crazy. Theo was being chased into his den, jumping about like a scared child and afraid, afraid, because he has no idea what had brought this up.</p><p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”</p><p>“You never know do you, you blackout drunk!” And he had to duck as with one livid swing, Boris went for his gut and, missing, knocked over his lamp, breaking it with a crash and scattering the light about in the process.</p><p>“Could you just explain what you’re going on about?” He asked as he retreated to his room.</p><p>“Couldn’t you understand?” He retorted. One more move and he was hitting his wall. He wouldn’t be surprised if the force could break it.</p><p>“Not when you’re not telling me what’s going on!”</p><p>Theo was running out of room to run. His place wasn’t ever the biggest to begin with and Boris was inching closer. His options were getting limited and the closer he got, the more frustrated he became. What did he think he was doing, screaming like a banshee and calling for murder?</p><p>“Oh look who it is! Potter, asking about feelings!”</p><p>“I don’t-”</p><p>“Because you ask, Potter! You never ask!” He cried.</p><p>And that’s when he got on the defensive.</p><p>“Well, what about me? You keep leaving me!” Tired of running, he stepped closer, practically seething. He closed his door. He didn’t need any more bullshit in his home. If he could, he’d fucking punch him right now.</p><p>“I have work, Potter! A life!” And it was almost laughable how in-his-face he was getting, what with his height, but he knew what he was capable of.</p><p>“You can’t just-”</p><p>“You can’t run to me whenever you want to!”</p><p>He was running? He was running? What about those times Boris has appeared right out of thin air, ready to tear him a new one and put him through the wringer? The amount of times he came, out of convenience, probably looking for a place to clash, looking for someone for some easy company and then just disappeared out of nowhere? He felt almost cheated on. What, with his work? Business? Back alley crime? He didn’t know.</p><p>And now he was bounding back to him, coming back from who-knows where and deciding to make for a life for himself? For him? For his sake? Did he need to be taken care of like some needy child? He had come, rushing to his side, as soon as he heard he was hurt. He needed, needed to fucking know that he was okay, that he wasn’t going to fucking leave him and when he came, he was told to leave? To get out? Sweating like a pig and suit absolutely wrecked all of a sudden he didn’t matter. He didn’t- He couldn’t-</p><p>“I care for you!” He screamed and whatever Boris was shouting into his face died down into nothings, sweet nothings and now that his head was clear and he could fucking think, he had the balls to continue.</p><p>“I was worried for you. What with how you disappeared off the face of the Earth and fucking ended the fucking call like that! What if you fucking died? You think I could fucking take that? Fuck, you only think of your fucking self!”</p><p>“Honestly what’s wrong with you?” He continued. “What’s fucking wrong with you? I was fucking worried about you and you fucking yell at me, me being dragged by what? Your goons as I’m screaming for you cause I thought you were a goner and what, you had hung up on me and not told me anything about what fucking happened to you?”</p><p>“I-”</p><p>“No I’m talking! You leave me on the other end of your cheap-ass call telling me you’ll fucking care, giving me these bullshit last words and then after your little mafia scene you show up here, after you got, shot I presume and tell me to fuck off? Are you fucking kidding me!”</p><p>He couldn’t take this. He brought his face to his hands. “If-if you died...If you were gone-” He couldn’t even finish the sentence. It was too hard to put it into words. He knew Boris was fucking facing him but he couldn’t look in the eyes.</p><p>“Don’t leave me again.”</p><p>It was silent, save for the quiet sobs that Theo was pouring into his hands. Boris had finally shut the fuck up and it was blissful, fucking blissful in that regard, the bullshit and the fire from their fight forgotten; it was so fucking stupid.</p><p>Life was always tearing, destroying them and their hearts and as they got older they only got sadder. Their traumas were always with them, but more than that, the farther it had gotten away from them, the harder it bit them in the ass. They were too alike in a way; two lost souls who lost their moms and left with shit dads to fend off. They were torn long before they met each other. It was exactly as what the world had played for them: defeat. It was a wonder that they could stand in the same room; they were two of the same kind.</p><p>What did that say of him? He didn’t know. Maybe that all he cared for was a mistake because it seemed that whatever he involved himself in, it seemed to get exponentially worse. His mom; Hobie; Pippa; Kitsey; Boris; the danger from his heathenous desperation was an alarm bell to get away. And now he was clearly thinking much too far into this. It was just a coincidence that Boris was back again; he wasn’t needed for anything.</p><p>If he thought about it, maybe he just wasn’t made for people. He wasn’t made to help people. He could try as he might to be the good guy and to save the day but at the end of it all he was just a parasite. He wasn’t needed. Boris didn’t need him.</p><p>“You love me.” Boris whispered.</p><p>He looked up and Boris wasn’t looking at him anymore, simply contemplating this declaration he seemed to be in awe of, mouth wide, eyes starry and as he noticed Theo staring, he shifted his expression, his mouth set into a firm line as if nothing had transpired and as they stared at one another, there was silence in the wonder as of what to do, what to say as the seconds ticked on and the curtains felt like closing; the play was just about over; the credits were rolling and it felt just too late. If he had seen himself now, he would think of war and ravage and death: white as a ghost and pale as a corpse. He didn’t deserve it; he was terror; a human; a man; a painting of scars and heart and breaking glass; disease and hell and a cad; not worth it; the trying was too much for anybody to take. He was him: breakable.</p><p>It was never his destiny to be deserving.</p><p>Did he finally smash into pieces?</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>Before he knew it, Boris was on him, and, sobbing, into his shoulder. It wasn’t a quiet sob, but loud and wailing as his shirt got wet and clung to him. “I thought-” Boris sniffed, but he couldn’t go on, instead sobbing harder. He felt like he should be consoling him, but not knowing now, he stood there a moment, hands outstretched and not knowing what to do as anxiety spiked and he hung there while he was being squeezed for all he was worth. Tongue-tied, he could only stand there minutely as he tried to keep himself in check, scrubbing his face to rid the salt as more tears just kept up coming, and Boris was sobbing and he was sobbing and he had this profound realization that everything might just be coming together.</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>He closed his arms around him, tentatively, and sighed as Boris clutched and cried on him. Willing himself to inch closer, he bent downwards, pressing his head to his neck. He was shaking, he knew it, but that didn’t stop him from acting upon instinct, breaking from this mantra made from thoughts of “He can’t.” “He couldn’t.” “He should know better.” -his thoughts were all bullshit anyways.</p><p>Boris shifted between him, his movements smearing tears and boogers across his chest; fat and ugly, they laid against his skin, but he didn’t mind, light-headed, as Boris started playing with the sleeve of his shirt, fiddling as he he seemed to be counting the seconds, minutes, breath labored and tense next to him. He wasn’t sure what to do with that so he stood there like a big awkward dumbass, holding him as he tried to calm down and it was almost surreal because this wasn’t his job, this was never his job, but here he was trying to console a person which he has never set up to do.</p><p>“I love you too, you know.” He breathed out.</p><p>That meant-</p><p>He stopped, unthinking as the implications settled in his mind and he froze, confirming what he thought-couldn’t be, only he had just heard him with his very ears. Pieces of memory began slipping together like pieces of a puzzle and didn’t know-didn’t know if he was going to be okay. It was all coming so fast. All those emotions, swirling in his head and hurting his heart and he could tell he was about to cry again because it was just too much for words.</p><p>This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t supposed to happen between them but nevertheless it did and he didn’t know whether to be thankful or horrified at the way he was so overwhelmingly happy, and terrified and wanted to squeeze him until he couldn’t breathe. He was in danger of falling, of well, falling again, but there was no use of that idiom anymore for he had never stopped falling, stopped hoping for something that wasn’t in the cards when it turned out it is, or could be.</p><p>Boris really did have the power to do everything.</p><p>As he stood there with this devoid sense of time, of life, of l-love, he found himself unable to do anything but breathe, because it was so hard to think of doing anything else but. “Let’s-let’s get you some real clothes.” He told him. He relinquished his grip, deftly avoiding looking at his chest. Boris blinked and then nodded, following Theo to his closet as he pilfered through his button-ups. Perhaps he should have been more interested in more interesting activities but right now he didn’t exactly have the strength for that (or the guts).</p><p>Then his front door burst open.</p><p>And Theo almost had a heart attack.</p><p>The bang practically made Theo stand on-end and Boris, quickly assessing the room, pulling out something from the inside of his pants as he backed up against the sides of the closet and listened for movement. Backing into the corner, Theo peaked out as he watched Boris poke his head out the doorframe. His blood ran cold. “A gun!” Theo mouthed and Boris quickly shushed him as his eyes widened and his breath shuttered (not like it wasn’t already). He did not like this one bit and normally if he had even found a gun on Boris’s person, he would be pitching a fit, or screaming. The thoughts back to that day in Amsterdam were circulating in his head and he knew that he kept comparing now to then, he was going to get sick.</p><p>If things get bad…</p><p>Just then, the door to his room opened, and feeling panicked, went to hide in a ball as Boris got on the defensive. He thought he would hear shots or something, screaming, sounds of struggle, but the next thing he knew, Boris was putting the gun away and Gyuri was standing before him, sweating and looking worse for wear. He tripped over himself to get into a standing position as he started blushing furiously though no one was paying him any mind, too caught up in their devices to really reflect on his utter buffoonery.</p><p>“Gyuri!” He could hear Boris shout.</p><p>Gyuri looked over Boris sternly, not at all mused. “I knew he would be here. He should be in bed. Borya, what do you think you are doing running off like that?” He shouted.</p><p>When he looked at the dishevelment of both of them and then to the man before him, he suddenly felt ashamed and a little awkward. What did it look like from Gyuri’s point of view, all that blood and Boris’s shirt ripped to shreds? They probably looked like animals. He bet his hair was a mess. He suddenly felt like hiding for an entirely different reason.</p><p>“Я тут босс! Я делаю что желаю!”</p><p>Gyuri made a move to grab him and Boris backed away, reeling and looking like he wanted to have one more go. Dukes out and stance itching for someone to try him, Boris kept his distance while Gyuri huffed esperatedly at his position. Fighting with his boss was one thing, but fighting against him was an entirely different situation altogether.</p><p>“Тебя выставления, ёбаный идиот! Боря, ты должен со мной прийти и отдохнуть!”</p><p>“Как ад!”</p><p>And with one more try, Gyuri made another move to grab him while Boris aimed for one good punch to the gut. Needless to say he missed. Screaming, it was an entanglement of limbs and death glares as the two men faced off in a little game of touch and grab. It would have been funny if Theo wasn’t aware of what they were capable of. It was looking ugly, Boris and Gyuri were shouting at each other and if Theo didn’t act soon, they would really be fighting. Him and Boris fighting in his flat were one thing, but two professional gangsters duking it out-he had to stop them fast.</p><p>“Hey please! Could we all calm down just a moment?”</p><p>“Calm down! This idiot won’t go to rest!” Said Gyuri, pointing at Boris inuriatedly.</p><p>“Like I will let you touch me!” Boris screamed in return. Theo was really hoping his neighbors didn’t hear that; who knows what kind of scenario would cook up in their heads. He wanted to yell at Boris to not say things like that, but what was more important was the situation at hand. Walking towards Boris, he was the one who put on his hand on his shoulder, trying to be reassuring; it felt strange.</p><p>“Boris, hey, you should be looked at.” He piped up. Gyuri looked at him curiously (as if he had just realized he was in the room), but let him speak. It made him a little nervous (maybe he was expecting a lot from him), but he stood his ground, giving all of his attention to Boris who looked like he was ready to tear limbs.</p><p>“But-”</p><p>“I want you to be okay.” He told him that and he had meant it. What was a way to keep Boris sated was when he thought about it was what he really wanted. He’d be thinking about that for hours later, but right now he was just saying whatever came to mind. And it was really true. He looked at Boris imploringly, hoping that he would just listen to him.</p><p>“Go with Gyuri. We’ll-we’ll talk in the morning.”</p><p>He thought Boris might give him hell for this-he was stubborn when he wanted to be, but just as he touched him, all the fight deflated and he had gone limp, agreeable. It was late and everyone was tired. He was tired. Everyone was tired. The faces of everyone in the room could say as much. Gyuri looked like he had run a marathon and Boris was torn up to all hell. He knew he didn’t look pretty and he didn’t feel it either, sore and possibly bruised and for once he was looking forward to hopping in his bed tonight and nodding off; it was enough excitement for one night. He doesn’t know how they could do this all the time; always on-edge, ready to move at a hairline’s trigger. It was exhausting.</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>Before he forgot and they decided to leave, Theo stepped into his closet and passed him a random shirt-white-because it was cold and no way in hell was he going out all wounded looking like that. He would have liked to get him cleaned-up too, but something was telling him he should hurry. Gyuri was looking sternly in his direction.</p><p>“Here’s a shirt.” He told him lamely.</p><p>“Thanks.”</p><p>Boris put it on halfheartedly, didn’t even bother with most of the buttons, just opened a few and slipped it on quickly as he possibly could, not even bothering to redo them. Before he knew it, the two uninvited men were almost out his door as quickly as they had come. He was standing at his door frame giving his goodbyes and he was at a loss for words, unsure of what to say. The atmosphere had changed between them in all but a few minutes. He could only blink and they were there, in the moment, and he really wasn’t sure if he wanted to say goodbye at all.</p><p>He felt like the script had ended somehow, now, let to unfinished business, and he was sentient, he was a human being, with thoughts and feelings but he was left to his own devices and that was the scary part: he was left to his own devices and he didn’t know how to continue. What was this new territory? Just what was this the new “them?” How was he supposed to work about this? Just how was he supposed to feel? He wasn’t entirely sure. New territory; it was something scary. But what was life without a few surprises?</p><p>He could at least try.</p><p>“Take care, alright?” He told him, hoping that he was making a difference. He was hoping that this would matter, that this one time he would feel the inclination to stay. He had a problem with people leaving him-he just couldn’t get it to stop. It was a curse and he hated it and if he just pushed for it once, maybe, just maybe things can go better than how they’ve already gone. A New Age for him; a New Age for them.</p><p>“Yeah.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Translations:</p><p> </p><p>Я тут босс! Я делаю что желаю! (YA TUT BOSS! YA DEL-ICH DO-SHI-BAH) - I am the boss here! I do what I please!</p><p>Тебя выставления, ёбаный идиот! Боря, ты должен со мной прийти и отдохнуть! (TEB-YA VY-STAL-VLEN-I-IYA, YEB-AN-YI IDIOT! BOR-YA, TY DOL-ZEN MN-EOI PRI-TI I OT-DOK-HNUT!- You were shot, you fucking idiot! Borya, you must come with me and rest!</p><p>Как ад! - Like hell! (KAK AD!) - (translates to an impolite no, but same connotations)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. The Next Day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Theo woke up with a headache and the taste of vomit in his mouth. Like any other time that happened he awoke in such disgust, promptly running to the bathroom, already feeling the sick coming on. Just as much that he would get fucked up as ever. The thought made him groan aloud and forcing himself to chew on a couple Advils and chug some water, thought of this until his memories from last night (if he could call them memories) came into fruition and he nearly choked, gobsmacked at the very reality of what had occurred, all counting from different intervals in a spotty show before the whole came all together and he had to hold himself against his kitchen counter to prevent himself from sinking into the floor.</p><p>Did he really do that?</p><p>Did that really happen?</p><p>He found himself growing concerned for his sanity, wondering if it was just some fucked-up fever dream, one with guns and Boris and indecent weather. He needed to clear his head he decided and so he brewed some coffee as he tried to settle himself and the haunting possibility that for once, he could actually remember everything. He bit his fist in doubt, very much doubting the possibility that his memories were really memories and as he thought he didn’t even realize the large indent that he was perpetuating onto his skin. He breathed harshly through his nose as he tried to get his bearings and even as he knew the coffee would oversteep, he didn’t care, too caught up in his own head.</p><p>There must be some way to remedy this, a chance to prove what was real and before he knew it, he found himself tracing himself back to his living room where he found two bottles of Smirnoff (no surprise there) and remnants of powdered gold gone to waste. He looked at the mess bitterly; used cigarettes; his tin empty; a broken lamp; the smell of a night of all hell and he felt just a bit ill looking at all of it. He had to turn away, the bile from the back of his throat still present and with his stomach it would take no time at all before he was back on the toilet seat emptying his guts.</p><p>As he took his first sip of coffee of the day, he tried to get back his bearings; stay in one place; think for a minute before turning to hysteria like he always does at one point or another. Remember the room; kitchen; light; table; chair; blood. Blood? He felt his heart rate rise out of his chest, nearly doubling himself over. He needed to calm down. He closed his eyes, drank the whole mug down and raced back to his room. Screw his nerves. He needed answers.</p><p>When he got there, he had found the blood trail that he missed before-the poor carpet would need a deep clean. There was so much. It looked like a brawl had happened and if he didn’t already know that it was all his, he would have been calling the police. The blood; his nose. He ran to the bathroom.</p><p>His face was caked with dried drool and this horrible mixture of snot and tears and blood. It was cracking on his face, flaking off as he expressed distaste and it was so disgusting that he had to look away and turn on the sink to rid himself in haste of the evidence. There should have been more of a mess. He stopped himself to take a look.</p><p>He had seen the bloodwork on his floor. He had bled a lot. It didn’t make any sense. It shouldn’t make any sense. But as he stared at himself in the mirror, the more and more he grew aware that Boris had licked it off, not with his tongue, but he took his finger and rubbed-his saliva against his- He had done that. Either was he was distraught at the fact that he hallucinated everything or that had come to mind or-</p><p>It really happened.</p><p>As he thought back to trembling hands and his snotty face, he didn’t know he could believe it was true. He had gotten fucked up that night. He was not okay. His head was pounding. His ears were ringing. He could have hallucinated that. He could have hallucinated it all. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know what had happened. He was much more comfortable with sweeping things under the rug if the case called for it which in his experience it did, often; some things were best kept out of the light. But was this the case? Now?</p><p>Was this the time to be quiet like he always was?</p><p>Passive?</p><p>It was scary. He didn’t know what he was doing with himself. He didn’t know what he was thinking exactly as he was washing his face and grabbing a change of clothes. There was no meaning to it. Forget breakfast. Forget coherency. Forget the fucking fucking time to think. Before he knew it, he was already out the door with his coat in hand.</p><p>~</p><p>“Let me talk to him.”</p><p>He was that wretched office again. By luck he had made it back to this reception desk, once again and was standing face to face with the same secretary from before, in a situation that neither of them wanted to be in but the circumstance called for it. She looked like she wanted to bite his face off.</p><p>She looked at him with her perfectly-manicured brow raised as if he was insane which, granted, was a fair assessment. She didn’t look like she was going to be any accommodating as she was before and as he waited for a response, her scanning her computer for something and him, tapping his fingers against her desk, annoyingly, waited for her to do something vile like signal security again to come and take him away. It was fair; he was in the headquarters of a Russian-speaking gang, alone, and without anyone to vouch on his behalf. The least she could do was get it over with quickly but no, he had to wait for her as she tap, tap, tapped on her computer screen like he didn’t exist. He could admit to himself that he found her intimidating, what with her razor sharp nails and predatory scowl that just screamed that he should get away while he could, scram and never give this place the time of day ever again, to just forget about it.</p><p>But he wasn’t a quitter by no means, even though he was quite literally shaking in his oxfords and staring off into the hall where he was sure to find a hoard of rather buff scary men awaiting to end him. He would have to act quickly if things were to go south for whatever reason and knowing how events had turned out before, he doubted he would be able to get very far by himself. It was a fruitless wish to fight, an idiotic thought, so here he was putting all his hopes on a woman who could probably kill him with her bare hands; a sheep in the hands of a lioness; a pig to the slaughter; a doomed like of fate where he could do nothing but wait and accept that he was to drown.</p><p>“Third door on your left.”</p><p>He blinked stupidly back at her, surprised how easy that was and he began to walk away, managing to sputter out a ‘thank you’ while she rolled her eyes back at him-perhaps she wasn’t worth the niceties. But here he was, and here was where Boris was so he followed her directions, winding through a small hallway before settling at the front of a door he hadn’t ran into before. If there was anytime where it would be much too late to back out, it was now.</p><p>He opened the door.</p><p>When he walked in, he wasn’t expecting too much. After all, this place was for less than savory work and he assumed that they had to keep at least some things low-key. Apparently that was not the case; there was big room with an open entrance and a big oakwood desk; a large bookcase covered most of the back wall, absolutely massive and filled with all sorts of different books in Russian, Polish, Portuguese, Italian, a multitude of languages; a vinyl collection hung on the walls surrounding; an array of black leather armchairs; a woven Turkish rug in the center; there was even a coffee table in the center of all this, an ashtray in obvious overuse atop of it and if he turned back to the leathers carefully, he would see the wistful tufs of a black head of hair perched against a black leather couch, tired and smoking a cigarette.</p><p>The two locked eyes for a moment, one astonished and the other not knowing exactly what to do. Boris shifted slightly, almost making a move to get up, but then he slumped backwards again, searching into Theo’s eyes as he pulled at his collar, not making a move to do anything but gawk at him on his couch when he was the one who went through all the trouble to get there. Boris blinked, a couple times, and then settled.</p><p>“Sit.”</p><p>He did.</p><p>He didn’t know what to do with himself. His knee was bouncing and his hands shaky, staring back at him while he lounged like the royal highness he was, breathing in his smoke lethargically and without care right in front of his face. He felt so out of place that he wasn’t sure how to react, alarm bells in his head and panic began to settle in as he forgot the words he wanted to say and just sat there like an idiot as he felt the itch to leave, tell him “nevermind.” and just hightail it out of there without a trace and barely a word in. It would save him from this tension he was feeling, not saying a word and just breathing in and out the remnant of the 3rd degree. It felt like the scene of a big boss movie had come to life.</p><p>“Cigarette?”</p><p>He took it reflectively, thankful for something to ease his nerves. Boris took out his lighter but he quickly got out his, shakily chasing the light as Boris watched, unmoving. He had changed his clothes, a new suit on: Versace; a nice freshly-pressed button-up; a new Rolex on his wrist. Meanwhile he was in his rumpled coat and freshly-used t-shirt. He wasn’t looking in his closet when he ran out the door-no time-and now he was regretting it. He didn’t like feeling so ill-prepared. He felt stupid looking at him. But he didn’t say anything, even if it was making the situation harder than it should be. He finished his cigarette in silence, barely looking at him before he crushed the butt on the ashtray on the table between them.</p><p>“We need to talk.”</p><p>Boris nodded and waited for him to say something. For once he wasn’t the one doing all the talking and he was grateful but at the same time nerved. Boris had this serious attention-on-him face peering back at him and it didn’t make it any easier for him, though he did appreciate the sentiment. He pushed his glasses up as he tried to figure out the words. He wanted to run. He would rather run.</p><p>But he couldn’t.</p><p>“You. Me. Last night…”</p><p>He looked away, not even knowing how to start. Would he sound crazy if it wasn’t true? Would Boris acknowledge it? They had said-at least he thought he did-that they would talk and now they were, well, he was trying to, keyword: trying; it’s like he could ever get anything right. Him and his stupid head. Him and his needless flailing. He could do this if he tried for once. For once he could fucking do this without fucking up every single fucking thing that could be fucked. He kind of wished he had a drink right about now but he drank enough last night to warrant a cleanse at this point so for now he was going to have to power through.</p><p>“I woke up this morning and I was fucked.” He began and winced.</p><p>‘So much for eloquence.’</p><p>“I didn’t know what the hell I did last night. I know I went back here. I know you sent me away.” He felt a lump in his throat begin to form but he needed to push past it. This was important to him and he needed to figure-Boris needed to tell him what he’d done. But Boris wasn’t helping. Boris didn’t make a move or a remark or express any indication that he knew what he was talking about and it terrified him. His face was blank and his eyes were hard, icy almost, which didn’t fucking help at all but it was too late to stop now.</p><p>“I was acting stupid and I guess I took it out on myself.” He paused and took the time to run his hands through his hair. “You know how it goes.” He laughed. Since when did he make jokes about these kinds of things?</p><p>“I did something, didn’t I? You did too, but something happened. At least I think it did. You were there and Gyuri.” He bit his lip. “I don’t trust myself to know.” He admitted. He hoped Boris would say something right about now. He didn’t want to say it out loud. If it wasn’t true… But Boris said nothing and the longer the silence lasted, the more he got irritated. He felt his eyes begin to water and he forced himself to fight it back. Fight it back. It wasn’t the time.</p><p>The waterworks were coming. He knew it. And he didn’t want to elaborate. If Boris knew then he could figure it out and if he didn’t, he was saved the embarrassment of explaining. Because it was hard for him and the more he thought about it, the more he couldn’t speak it aloud. It wasn’t his forte. Call it like it is, but he was a coward at heart. The man of action just couldn’t be him. Not him. He felt his lip start to tremble and his resolve crumble at this, fucking screw keeping composure. He wasn’t in a stupid movie where the stakes would dicate his fucking fate if he were break down right now. This wasn’t some sort of Oscar performance. This was Boris and he had to quit acting like he was something to be trifled with because he was Boris, an idiot who walked with an umbrella in the desert and not some terrifying criminal who would have him shot and dropped into the Hudson at his first smart remark. He was over it now and was just done with it, done with the stupid show and just wanted Boris to pat him at the back and tell him it was okay.</p><p>He couldn’t deal with this anymore.</p><p>“Tell me if it’s true, asshole.”</p><p>He didn’t know if he wanted it to be true. On one hand, it could save him the hell of making up an excuse. But on the other-he wouldn’t know what to do. Everything had felt so real. There was evidence in his apartment to say the least that something happened. And if he was wrong that meant there was a lot more wrong with him than he thought there was and the strangest thing of all was that was probably the worst possible thing that could have come out of this. He was trying and he was living and he was breathing and trying to keep himself together. He had thought he had been getting better; he had thought-the nightmares were growing less; he had been sleeping a lot better these days; he was feeling a lot better these days. Who knew that even in the presence of hell and the overload of drugs, that he could find some sort of unartificial peace? He thought it wasn’t possible. He just wasn’t the person to get a happy ending. He didn’t think he deserved it.</p><p>“Tell me.” He pleaded.</p><p>Slowly, Boris changed color, like the snow beginning to thaw and that smile that glossed over as soon as he saw him shatter. He bit back a flow of expletives as he made it over to his side, almost gleaming which was complexity unfair and an issue in itself as his breath stuttered and he froze up from just how close he was. He squeezed him, tightly, and he wanted to pull back, wanted to reject him and yell but his grip was strong and it was a losing battle; he was so fucked up-causing him to hiccup into his chest and for his back to hurt from the position, but he heard it all the more, the way his chest tightened and his heart beat against him.</p><p>“I love you too, you know.” He murmured into him and he shuttered, aghast with how the words fit into his memories and he grew dizzy, face hot and mind clouding as sanity reached an abrupt halt. How could it stand anymore anyways?-he wanted to stay just like this. He could just stay like this and breathe in this soft air, the encompassment and tenderness inhalable-the smelled of Boris was just like that-and as he circled his arms around him nervously, Boris laughed softly into his ear, petting him. Petting him.</p><p>How could this be real?</p><p>“Holy shit.” He croaked and Boris laughed louder at him despite his position, despite the fact that he was strapped to his chest and he was this [ ] close to bursting into tears. There was no reason for him to be this good, accepting in the fact that there was an eventuality in which they would admit to what had been never said aloud. His blackouts; Boris’s aloofness; his fears and Boris’s too. It seemed impossible that they could have ever ended like this. Boris was always a free spirit and he was always one to simply be, never wanting to push for anything he knew he could not have.</p><p>But now it was really there.</p><p>“I don’t know what to feel.” He admitted. It felt good to admit that. Boris smiled into him and idly thought maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to hug him so fiercely but when tried to let go, Boris wouldn’t let him, pulling his hands back around him tightly and felt himself grow warm, glad he could hide in the crook of his neck as Boris hummed non-committedly. He didn’t want to get up, not when he had to face him and actually look him in the eye, after all that he just said to him, so he resolved to hide between the nook of his shoulder as he built up the courage to say what he should have when he booked a cab and resolved to restart his life without him.</p><p>“I love you.” He told him.</p><p>Boris stiffened right next to him, his heart banging in his ear but he sounded pleased as he laughed breathily in his ear. “I know.”</p><p>He rolled his eyes.</p><p>“Ass.”</p><p>“Stupid.”</p><p>“Idiot.”</p><p>They were always going to be like this.</p><p>“Fair enough.” He smiled.</p><p>And they could have sat like that, for the rest of the day maybe and not have said a word. They’ve done it before; on a bender or just hungover, existing. It was a sweet spot in life to just exist and live in the silence of company and it hadn’t been lonely despite the sound of it. Coping, that’s probably what it was, and it was glorious, but the question still remained:</p><p>“What happens now?”</p><p>He hoped that didn’t sound as cliche in his head as it sounded aloud, but he couldn’t resist. Boris took a peak at him wearily, and pulled back into a more normal seating position, stiff. He released him and sat back, like a normal person on the couch, and now they were just two men sitting uncomfortably close to each other like they always have.</p><p>Perhaps it was a mistake to ask.</p><p>Boris almost looked wounded, and he supposed he didn’t look much better, but he should ask.<br/>It was natural to.</p><p>“What are we?”</p><p>Boris blinked, cocked his head slightly but he thought he understood in the way his breath hitched and he looked away for a moment, practically unreadable. He didn’t even know what that meant (he was always an ass about showing emotions) and as he got that faraway look in the corner of his eye, he didn’t know if he wanted to punch him or himself; if that was his answer, it was a bullshit one.</p><p>He needed another cigarette and luckily as soon as he thought it, Boris readily tore through his pack, offering another one to him. Then there was silence again. They smoked through three more before they said anything and even then it was tense, the only reassurance that there was something there was the fact of their goddamn knees touching. It just goes to show that old habits die hard and this one was going to die slowly, he was sure of that if they kept acting like teenagers.</p><p>“This is bullshit.” He muttered.</p><p>Boris looked at him quizzically before laying back down, with his head on the headrest but paying attention. He probably felt a rant coming on and he probably was going to rant, but what was the point? Why did everything have to feel so complicated anyways? It was so stupid to be walking on eggshells, after all they had been through. He knew Boris was doing this for his sake, waiting for him in the way he was patiently watching, for any sign, for any go to-‘oh, that what he had been doing,’ he thought and then he had another crisis because it should have been so obvious but he was just that inept. He should be fucking slamming his head into a wall right now, so he did the next best thing, and screamed as Boris jumped, thinking he had gone mad-he hadn’t. He was just an idiot and he had left this wanting alone for so long it was a miracle he wasn’t long gone. He took a pillow and muffled himself as Boris’s guys came charging towards the glass before he gave a signal that it was alright, he was just like this.</p><p>“I can’t believe you stayed for me.” He moaned and Boris didn’t say anything, instead opting to scoot closer to him despite how much of a fool he had been being and the very little room there was already between them. He took his arm and placed it behind his back, pulling him in despite his pillowface and breathing him in and he stilled from the sudden proximity, because he was just that weak.</p><p>“Yes, I stayed for you.” He admitted into his ear. It felt good and he leaned into it, a little mortified but unable to help himself. He took the pillow off his face and dropped it onto the floor. Someone would pick it up later he was sure. He could feel the smile on him and he hated him for it, but most of all he hated the way it made him feel, so utterly-fucking-exposed.</p><p>“I will be here. Forever. I will wake up everyday and see you, because I want to. I will be here and if you can’t find the word, fine. No word. Just like before. Just like every time.” Boris huffed and he couldn’t blame him for it; he was a mess. This was no different than before but he didn’t know if he wanted what they had before; how awkward it all had been; how they (Theo) refused to even look at each other the night after; how a sober kiss was like a bomb was shot off and they were left dumbstruck, pleading but having to let go for the sake of themselves for the sake of a painting and impulses; He didn’t blame Boris for one last hurrah before the end; he was always such a spaz that it would have probably ended badly if he hadn’t. Him and his horrible worries; Boris and his split-second decisions that had haunted from then until now. It made them a match made if heaven if you could call it that: stupid and tirelessly ridiculous. He may have been making a mistake with this, with all of this but who wasn’t he but a person who would make mistakes? He should take charge of his life for once.</p><p>“I want to be with you.” He scared himself but it was said out loud so he couldn’t exactly take it back so he continued, ever worried by the outcome but exhilarated, heart thrumming and impossibly clear-headed as he wondered how everything could have come so into place by a few words, a sort of plan coming into his mind’s eye at the thought as he continued, sharp-tongued and demanding in a way that he wouldn’t have expected from himself but he knew what he wanted and he didn’t want to stop now.</p><p>“I want to be with you not like Vegas, when we wouldn’t say anything after, you know.” He still couldn’t say the fucking word. “I want to do what I want with you without having to be terrified out of my own skin or drunk out of my mind. I want-to be intimate and not have to worry, wake up everyday and find you there, on my shitty bed and laying right next to me and hurl. I want pancakes my mother made me when I was a kid, blueberry, and I want to put stupid amounts of chocolate chips on yours, covered in wipcream so I can gag everytime I see you eat. I want to go to a mall without you having to kidnap me because I want to, with you, and watch the New Years Ball drop or something stupid and terrifying like that. I want to hear you yell in bars in every language you know and somehow not kicked out because you know the owner and shit, because of course you do. You always fucking do. I want to have you hit my head with a pillow every morning, even hungover, just you see you grin back at me and call me a chicken in Russian. I want to fucking hug you without feeling like a prick. I want to laugh till my sides hurt, everyday, until we’re old and bitter and chugging vodka and sniffing blow like our lives depend on it.” He was getting off topic. “What I’m trying to say is-'' And he couldn’t believe that he was saying this- “I want a relationship with you. A real one.”</p><p>He hoped his admittance hit the mark. He hoped he gave Boris something, when in reality Boris was always giving to him, even if he stole what he loved and never told him until years back. It didn’t even matter to him anymore. Boris was a thief. He stole. And stole. And stole. And he had stolen himself, long ago. He had never quite understood why Boris exactly had to urge to steal whenever possible, even when it was useless, but he had understood the power he had felt, when he could have taken what others couldn’t; a pack of steaks; old cigarettes from the back of the corner store. He had seen use for them. He could see merit in taking them.</p><p>But Boris just wanted to have the ability to have something when he thought he couldn’t.</p><p>“What do you say?”</p><p>If he remembered anything, it was the way the Boris looked at him like the sun, eyes welling up with tears and he nodded, trying not to cry but failing spectacularly as he squeezed him to death, once again clinging cause he fucking could and he did too because why not, and he really really fucking wanted to. He was laughing in his ear, hysterically, with eyes shining and the biggest fucking smile you could ever imagine and tears streaking down his cheeks unabashedly in his own unapoligetically Boris was. Boris was already a happy person, but goddamn, the way he looked like he could rival anything was unheard of and he just knew he could forgive him for anything and everything he had to put up with, just to see him look like that again.</p><p>He wanted to kiss him, he realized and it startled him. He could see it in the way his eyes would trace the outline of his mouth and the way his lips parted, so completely upturned and easy that it really was way too hard to refuse. The way he unhooked his arm from his shower to grab his head told him as much and he leaned forward, not letting Boris be the guiding hand in all this. He wanted-he wanted so much and more, but before Boris did anything, he stopped him, looking at him seriously.</p><p>“Let’s go to dinner. Tonight.” He couldn’t help the upturn of his lips as soon as he said it, the way he was bright and alive when he said it, taking him in, like a masterpiece to his work and he felt all warm and fuzzy at the comparison. Dinner as in out. Dinner as in-</p><p>Oh.</p><p>That was a lot to take in. That was a whole lot to take in. The potential of someone coming and-and seeing them, knowing who he was and where he worked (it wasn’t that uncommon) and the thought gave him anxiety, but he wasn’t about to say no. Boris wanted a day and he was going to get one. Besides, what was the chance of seeing a prissy heiress from Manhattan seeing him in an old cartel bar? He could live for one day, he thought. He couldn’t be that obvious and dare he say it, that bravery was still in him.</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>Boris looked like he was just about to start sobbing again, so he took his hand and wiped the corners of his eyes with his sleeve, tentatively, with care he didn’t know he had. His glasses were getting so foggy with tears that he had to take them off and wipe them furtively, nostalgic, numb, and so incredibly thankful that no one else was seeing him now, so bent out of shame yet tender. He didn’t believe in a perfect world, something so troubling yet utopic; if there was ever a brief instance that he didn’t want to end it was this one.</p><p>But the real world was out there, loud and brash and furious and the secretary (Katrina?) came in, looking pressed and he knew it was over. He couldn’t blame her and he supposed that this must be important (they were left alone for so long that it must be), but that didn’t stop him from jumping, terrified at the whole scene she had in her visage. Boris unhooked his hands and he stood up just as quickly as she gave him a onceover, almost leering; it felt like she was staring into his soul. She ignored him after a moment however, favoring in addressing Boris.</p><p>“Sir, we need you.”</p><p>Boris turned to him, looking apologetic. He stood up to give him a proper goodbye, patting him harshly on the back as he always did. He didn’t know if this was supposed to be a formal goodbye or something more (didn’t know what his subordinates knew about him or were allowed to for that matter), so he took it, hugging him carefully and professionally like any other guy would in the “I love you man but it’s nothing more.” kind of sense; frat boy style; “I play football’ type of camaraderie; that kind of gist.</p><p>“I guess it is goodbye.” He told him and he figured as much, what with the way his secretary was boring holes into the back of his head. He really wished she had waited, or could have been more subtle in her disdain for him but beggars couldn’t be choosers in these types of situations. He had work to do after all, whatever that meant.</p><p>Boris looked over at him cheerfully, smiling in that way he always did which was not so polite but more excited, giddy, like a kid in a candy store. He smiled back as well, tentatively, because there were people around and he really didn’t know what to think, Boris’s plan running through his head, a mile a minute that it made him dizzy just thinking about it.</p><p>I will see you tonight!” He promised. “Wait for me, okay?”</p><p>“Yeah okay.” He told him.</p><p>“До свидания дорогая” He smiled.</p><p>Darling.</p><p>He didn’t have enough time to take that in for as soon as it registered, he gave him a quick peck on the check and then he was off into the hall, walking briskly as his secretary followed after him and began talking rapidly in Ukrainian, not even batting an eye that they had left him in the room, alone. It made him wonder if this had happened before, if Boris had ever brought a person, a man to show about something normal, that this wasn’t out of the ordinary for their workplace; no doubt the thought made him nauseous.</p><p>Glancing about the room, he saw that he was by himself and didn’t like it. Why on Earth they had no one to show him out was beyond him but feeling that he overstayed his welcome, he saw himself out, which he managed to after glancing down the hall once or twice; Boris was nowhere to be seen. He walked out, not sure what to do now that he was alone, and being that he had too much to think about and didn’t trust himself to walk back without finding himself on the other side of the city, he opted to take a cab. It led him back home-big shocker-which gave him the following options: clean up, take a nap, or get high out of his mind.</p><p>He got high out of his mind.</p><p>Rolling up a blunt was not easy when you’re tired as shit but he managed to do it, not his greatest work but it would do. He had decided to smoke out his window since it was way too cold to go outside and he didn’t want to exactly see any of his neighbors right now. It had been a long day and he wanted to relax damn it, and maybe keep himself from inwardly having a midlife crisis when he was only in his 20s. He knew how old he was but that didn’t keep him from feeling old; he had done far too much for his age to not expect gray hairs to begin peaking through.</p><p>The weed helped though, thank God. If he breathed in the smoke, really breathed it, his problems could settle to the back of his mind and he could laugh at how simple it all really was. He could do it; go out into the city and fucking date and see this man without any qualms and love him and there would be no issue because it was his life and he could just life by how he wants to live. No one could stop him from that. Not one person. Not one person in his goddamn life would be stopping him.</p><p>But he sure as hell could.</p><p>He could still feel how terrified he was when his secretary came to get Boris, looking at him with an accusatory eye and-judging. He never liked eyes on him and he sure as hell wouldn’t be okay with how it looked from the outside view, what he was like and what he would do in his personal life. He always felt that if someone were to look at him and they just immediately assumed that he-wasn’t right in the head.</p><p>It felt like that, even now, that he wouldn’t be able to recover from the shame. It had been a long time since that but he could still feel it: how his eyes would pop out of his head and be holding onto whatever he could, avoiding art collectors and any man that got the sense that he-He didn’t mean to think that. He shook his head but it wouldn’t go away and he supposed he really was just like that, now and forever. You’d think he'd realize that after confessing his love but no, he’d figure that only hours later causing the need to lie down with a blunt and his mind a buzz.</p><p>This was how it was now. This was how it was going to be and while it had elated him earlier, he could feel the absolute terror running through him and it was terrible how his mood would switch to a complete 180°, just like nothing. He was supposed to feel better after all of this, not worse and as his mind spiraled with thoughts on “what if” and “how could he possibly-?,” he began to see why it was a bad idea to take so much at once, especially today of all days. His whole flat was going to smell like weed after all of this, but he couldn’t find the energy to care. After all, he had more pressing matters to worry about.</p><p>He was tempted to call, and cancel whatever this was. It was hard for him just not to send a simple text and hightail it to the farthest place he could get to at the present moment. It wouldn't be hard; he could be gone in a flash. What else was there to do in a moment of weakness such as this, when the easiest thing for him to do would be to run and start over over again from scratch? He had done it; Boris had done it. Both of them had run from their problems, whether across country or overseas, they were both under the agreement that sometimes the best option was a restart.</p><p>He was far too hungry to think about this.</p><p>He called the nearest pizza place after he looked for the number, desperate for a reprieve and a distraction. He was probably going to vomit it all later but it was better than nothing and fuck it, he could eat the carbs for once. He was absolutely ravenous. When the guy comes he completely ignores his smirk and hands him the cash, uncaring as he slammed the door on his face and pulled a slice out of the box. He finished the pizza in no time, obviously, because he was stoned and had literally no food in his kitchen. He tore through it disgustingly and yes, he did almost gag on it, but managed to hold it down, somehow. New York City pizza did wonders to your mood; it was like fucking heroin but he’s never exactly had that so he guessed he wouldn’t really know. But it felt good to indulge on something, even if he would regret it later. Distracting himself was hard work.</p><p>He made it a point to himself that he could talk himself through it. It could be fun. It could be worthwhile. It was just like any other time he invited him out: someplace loud with a foreign bar and multitude of languages. He could deal with that. He’s dealt with that before.</p><p>Yeah.</p><p>Who was he kidding? This was completely different. He groaned into the empty box in his lap just because he could and he was pretty sure that his stomach couldn’t take all the additional food it wasn’t used to consuming. He must have looked like a loser, covered in grease and smelling of pizza and weed, a horribly-smelling combination really. God, he needed a shower. He could see that it was getting dark judging by his window and he tried not to get too nervous over the fact that he could knock on the door now and he wouldn’t even be ready to face him.</p><p>It seemed like his mind had already made a decision for him. It didn’t take him long to scrub himself clean and begin to shave, putting on nice slacks and a button up. He got dressed up just like any other day, putting on the aftershave and spraying on his favorite cologne. He looked good. He felt good, but he brushed his teeth about five times to get rid of any smell just to be sure. When he looked into the mirror, he wasn’t sure he recognized himself, all clean-cut and-was that a grin?</p><p>Just then he heard a knock on his door and his stomach immediately somersaulted to his chest. He didn’t have to think about running to his door to open it. He was already doing that. He did a breath check just to make sure-Boris would sure have something to say to that-and sighed, already knowing what was awaiting him, or at least assuming so. There was so much riddling his mind with anxiety that he had a bit of trouble opening the door, sweat-slicked hands and all. He managed to though, however embarrassingly.</p><p>He was met with the eyes of Boris standing outside his door.</p><p>“Hey.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Translation:</p><p>До свидания дорогая - Goodbye darling (to a man)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Take Out</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I hate how often my breakthroughs arise at 3am. Life of a writer, I guess. Sigh.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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</p><p>“Where’re we going?” He asked as he punched the button to the ground floor of the elevator. He had gotten out of his as quickly as he could when Boris appeared and berated him for not giving him the time, but he only smiled easily back at him as he said it didn’t matter, as if he would be waiting for him at any time which was true but it still felt wrong to say aloud. He felt like a princess waiting for her knight in shining armor which only served to get him ticked off and get him in a mood right from the get-go. </p><p>Boris seemed undeterred however, laughing like it was no big deal and nudged him lightly every now and then as they walked to wherever their destination was, coming up with absolutely ridiculous ideas as to how as to why people were so unpredictable; why that lady down the street looked constipated; why the hotdog stand down they passed tasted so goddamn awful; why the woman in the fur coat was yelling into her cell. “Probably divorce.” He said and he couldn’t deny that that it was probably true, seeing the fire in her eyes as looked really to slam the phone into the ground as she spit out her words like venom and called someone a two-timing pig. It was a wonder how Boris had gotten anything done with the bullshit that came out of his mouth, judging everywhere he went and making off-hand comments like he knew everything that went on everywhere, but he eventually he couldn’t help himself, laughing as they passed a rabbi that he swore did opium in a place they both knew and as he watched the way the man’s payos blew in the wind as he turned his head curiously, it took all had had not to howl in laughter in the middle of the street sober. </p><p>He was having a good time he realized, even without the food. The food was close Boris told him and couldn’t find himself to care. He would be satisfied like this; just taking a stroll would have been enough for him and he was about to say as much when he saw just how much Boris wanted this, with the way he had gotten more excited the further they ventured from normal streets, steeps bouncing in merriment as they turned this way and that and he could tell that for sure that they wouldn’t be going to any normal establishment. The way the roads were told him as much.  </p><p>He led them to an area he had been before, one where he would scarcely go, much less at night and it made him antsy to be back, wondering where on Earth Boris was planning to take him. His days in the opium dens had come to mind immediately as he saw the desolate buildings surrounding and he was swept with the nausea of the streets and the litter; the back alley dens smelling of piss and soot; sour tastes and lolling eyes; scarred faces and the screaming for more. He was growing more nervous by the minute. If they were about to go to one of those-it wouldn’t be good for either of them. </p><p>Luckily the street seemed part and they were led astray to an area of less notoriety for the more nefarious activities and had taken them around a bend where suddenly everything was lit by bright, obstructive lights and mostly Chinese writing on every other sign. There were a lot of people about, all rushing and shouting in this big main street where there were outside sellers and various other little shops and restaurants, all of various smells and sounds. Boris blended in well with his cheery demeanor and shouts of excitement and as he rushed and dodged various cooks and ongoers as he talked animatedly and he was at a loss for words as to what he could possibly say when the neon lights were reflecting on his pale, pale skin and bright shiny eyes.</p><p>They reached the restaurant that Boris wanted, eventually, when he took him around a quick turn they had reached this tiny place tucked into the corner of a less used street. As soon as they got inside, an excited hostess came to greet them, already leading them to a table as quick as a light. She was tiny, and sweet, giving them their menus to them with a smile before rushing back to go bring their drinks. She never addressed Boris directly which confused him immensely; Boris always seemed to know everybody wherever they went. </p><p>“You know this place?” </p><p>Boris was looking at the restaurant distractedly, scanning the place from table to table as he tapped him to get his attention. It took him a moment before his question registered but before he smiled back cheerfully like nothing was out of the ordinary. </p><p>“Not at all.” </p><p>He was staring. He had to look away but there he was, staring as Boris hummed into his menu. It was that old Polish song, he knew the one and it was so mundane and profound to his mind that he did a double take and he had to turn into his menu and hide. He could have been caught so easily. What was wrong with him? </p><p>“Oh. Okay then.”</p><p>He hoped those beers would come quickly. </p><p>~</p><p>They ended dinner on a high note with more beer than food in their systems, as per usual, laughing their asses off as Boris quickly paid for the check while he was none the wiser. The hostess was quite happy with the check and customers, and had offered them almond cookies, on the house. Theo would have readily declined in any other situation, but she was so small and persistent, with her wide eyes and gratitude that he had to take it and swallow it down while Boris ordered a bag of them to go. </p><p>It was funny how talked so animatedly that he riled up the staff, even getting the cook to talk to him as he praised the establishment and the food they had eaten. This was probably how he got on such good terms with everyone he thought as the cook shook his hand and bowed, smiling animatedly and looking ready to cry. “Excellent work! Absolutely fantastic! Never in my life have I had such perfect noodles! You have really outdone yourself. I will come again!” Boris was enough of a thankful customer for the both of them. He just watched from the sidelines as waited for the whole ordeal to be over, not sure as to how to contribute as he smiled politely at the scene before them, nervous. </p><p>“Take.”</p><p>The hostess had brought out the small bag of cookies that Boris had asked for and was smiling at him outstretching her hands out with not one but two baggies excitedly outstretching her hands as he pushed it towards him. </p><p>“No it’s fine-”</p><p>“Take.”</p><p>He couldn’t refuse. </p><p>She just smiled and nodded at him as he took it in his hands. He thanked her dumbly as she only laughed, pleased and then before knew it it was time to go. Boris had finally decided that it was time to take their leave and had thanked them profusely, even as he was edging towards the exit. Theo had to pull on him to get him to get him out the door, something that he never thought he would do in public, but lo and behold, it was a thing again, because he couldn’t think of any other way to get him out without waiting for him to profess his love to everyone that resided there. </p><p>The little hostess was chuckling at the scene and he was going to have to have a stern talking to this idiot after this, but he couldn’t help himself, being the extrovert that he was that never wanted to leave a single place. With one last yank on his coat, he got him out and back out onto the city street which he protested to until they were already walking again, Boris muttering about how much brute force he was using these days. </p><p>“Come again!” The little hostess shouted out the door. </p><p>And he thinks he will. </p><p>~</p><p>“Dinner was good. I’m surprised.” He mentioned while chewing on one of the cookies. He was going to give them to Boris, but he was going to feel bad for the old lady if he didn't take at least a couple, so that’s what he was doing right now and admittedly they were good; not too sweet and crumbly; he may have taken more than a couple. </p><p>Boris had already finished his bag by the time they had crossed a couple blocks down; him and his insatiable habit had him always hungry and always tearing into any sweet he could have. There was a reason he could eat so much while still being such an absolute stick. He rolled his eyes as Boris turned to him in mock offense, as if his words were scandalous or something. </p><p>“You’re surprised? I know I have good taste!” He declared. </p><p>Theo laughed at how stupid it sounded yet how true it was. He wasn’t used to the quiet, how he could hear himself clearly as they talked and how there was scarcely a soul in such a large, spacious restaurant. Perhaps it was the New Yorker in him or perhaps it was because of his expectation of Boris to just be Boris, but for one of the first times in his life, he could hear himself think without needing to sniff up a Xanax in the bathroom or count to twenty to calm himself down. </p><p>It was nice. </p><p>He thought back to the way Boris had gotten so riled up, excited even despite the lack of boisterous atmosphere he was so used to. He could hear himself talk and could hear every word said without straining himself to get every last detail. There was no crowd, pushing and shoving against him on a stool like on one of those busy saturday night bars where everyone seemed to be fighting for a drink. </p><p>It wasn’t suffocating. </p><p>He was okay. </p><p>“Yeah, well, thank you. I had a nice night.” He told him. </p><p>Boris beamed, as if he was the one who cooked up the food and seated them to their table and made sure the place was quiet and calm and in a way he did. He had picked out the place and they had eaten well, those days of Xandra’s takeout on his mind as he picked at peking and BBQ, laughing more than eating, talking more than drinking, and he gotten to the point where the Snow Globals weren’t the only the only thing keeping him lucid. The amount of carbs was egregious; his stomach was more full than it’s been in weeks; he’s pretty sure at one point he spilled soy sauce on his tie; Boris had laughed so loud at one point that he snorted, big and ugly-sounding like a pig; they were borderline tipsy; the night was young; shop signs were bright; everything they did felt like a highlight to their lives.</p><p>It was fun.  </p><p>“Good.” Boris told him. And it could’ve been exclaimed by so much more. </p><p>The night was frigid and the stars could not be seen through those god awful amounts of light blinding the sky and the very vicinity below. You could practically see every square inch of space, colored and neon, no matter where you stepped. The city was alive and the streets were clear and bright in the way that must have beckoned every person that came to visit-the city was too welcoming-and it didn’t take them long before they were acting like children again, running and chasing and those poor cookies crumpling to dust in Theo’s breast pocket as he ran after Boris after he shoved him one too many times towards a puddle; they were being prompted to chaos.</p><p>The light had reflected on them in flashes, the lights getting further and further away in distance from each other as they ventured further away from the shops and busy people and into the park-Columbus it looked like-as they shouted like drunken idiots-which they were-and ran into the night. Boris was whooping and hollering, just out of his reach, but it wasn’t as if he was really trying. He was drunk off his ass and more out of breath from laughter than exertion. Boris was screeching now and then in a different language, making a point of what, to catch him? Incite him? He couldn’t care at this moment, one way or another. That laughter was contagious; his hands were beckoning; red lips and frigid air; coattails flailing, aflutter in the dark; he couldn’t resist. It was all he ever wanted: Boris and freedom, unconstrained and invincible. </p><p>He eventually lost breath even as Boris was egging him on, calling him out for being weak which he glared at him for but he had stopped to check up on him. He offered up his hand and he took it, swaying slightly as he regained his balance. Boris gave him some leverage until he was on his feet again and not standing like a newborn baby giraffe. He had gripped his side to keep him upright and had eventually managed to, but to his surprise, Boris winced and he immediately felt himself stand on end, worrying, and thinking back to the amount of bandages, tightly wrapped to his chest before and it was as if he had been doused in a bucket of ice water; back to the real world. </p><p>“Are you okay?” He asked, panicked as Boris managed to stand upright and nod, but not before Theo could see the flash of pain in his eyes. He tried to come to his aid, Boris swatted him away, irritated, as he winced again. </p><p>Just how long was in pain and he never noticed? </p><p>Boris didn’t look like he wanted to talk about it, mouth closed tight in a thin line as if that was the end of it, nothing would be mentioned after this. Even in their inebriated state, he was going to refuse, once again not to tell him anything, and for once, he couldn’t accept that, not when he had charged a fucking mob operation because he was scared shitless that he could have died; not when the thought of him dying shook him to the point of despair; not when he has had nightmares about this in which he would leave but never return; just a statistic; just another scumbag off the streets of some fair city; he needed answers. </p><p>“Tell me what happened.” </p><p>He expected a fight with the way Boris was eyeing him and he was ready for it if he had to. He was practically serving him a challenge with that stance and the way that he was closing his hand into a fist. They were both drunk but they could fight; it was how they worked after all. He got ready to block him, head swirling but still ever-present and he must have looked ill-prepared-he was always a sloppy drunk-for Boris only had to take one good look at him before he sighed, relaxing his hands to his sides and relinquishing his previously offensive stance. </p><p> “Fine.” </p><p>He blinked, not thinking that it was going to be that easy. Boris still wouldn’t let him touch him, but he was relenting, even if he most definitely wanted to disagree. He shifted, offering space, a truce of sorts as Boris assessed him and his surroundings (one could never be too careful), but mostly it was because he was nervous of what he would say. He shifted, running his hands through his hair as he tried to get his head back on straight. He was pink in the face, slouchy and just a little put out but nevertheless he looked like he would answer him, even if it did seem to be giving him hell. </p><p> “I went on a run by myself.” Boris began. He refused to look him in the eye, instead pulling out a light and cigar. “Took a car to go and see competition. More men than I thought.” He sighed, breathing in the smoke. He was trying to compose himself, bending forwards and huffing when suddenly he grabbed his side harshly as if the thought brought him physical pain which it might have, but he was grounding himself in the present, clutching for dear life as he laughed into the night air, Theo watching in fear and horrible curiosity to know. </p><p>“Bullet went past me.” He winced. </p><p>Just a few sentences, barely any detail but it was enough to tell a story and he knew it was going to be bad but still didn’t keep him from gasping, terrified, and so incredibly angry that it happened in the first place as he stared in shock before hardening and it looked as if Boris had started at the change as he shifted, looking hurt before he looked away, solemn. </p><p>“You could have died.” </p><p>Boris didn’t say anything, face tight, and it was probably his fear to say anything he shouldn’t, to tell him anything really that made him avoid his glare. He could feel those emotions from yesterday hitting him like a shockwave and he idly wondered how he could have missed all of this, but then remembered how desperate he felt and how his own inner wondering had served as barriers from the questions he should have been dying to ask. </p><p>He was always after his own ego after all.</p><p>“What the fuck, Boris?” He managed to say. What the fuck, because he should have been watched. He should have been with others. He shouldn’t have been in the line of fire at all, but stupid, selfish Boris had to go and do what’s right or more do what was in his best interests instead adhering to his obligations and going to some fucking dinner party with him. </p><p>“I called.” He muttered like that was going to help and he wanted to wring his fucking neck, scream, something, but he couldn’t, not now, when he was folding into himself and practically hiding under his heated gaze. </p><p>“You could have died.” </p><p>And he could, but then he was feeling bad for him now and didn’t want to make it worse than it actually was. If he was sober, he probably would have made a fit. If he was younger, he probably would have tackled him by now. But now at his age, when was tired and drunk and wanting to be mad, he couldn’t, not for long, when all the man in front of him looked as if he were going to cry and he had to sit down to reassess himself and his tact. Screw the floor and how dirty it most definitely was. He couldn’t think about that now. </p><p>“How bad is it?” He managed to bite out, hands to his chin clasped as if in prayer but pensive, shaking in uncontrolled rage as he kept himself busy and looked into the dark and away from him, otherwise he would most definitely think of violence.</p><p>“Bullet went past me. Only a scar.” He muttered.</p><p>He took a deep unsteady breath of air. Great, like that wasn’t going to haunt him for the rest of the week. For the rest of the month. A long time it looked like. He would have to grin and bear it. Deal with this bullshit and be cool about. Just when they had a fucking day with each other and things just  seemed to be looking up they were still reduced to a state where they would never talk it out. </p><p>“Don’t do that to me.” He told him. It didn’t matter to him anymore. They were supposed to be honest, right? He rubbed his temples in agony-the thoughts were too much-as he tried to steer his mind clear of what could have transpired. He was sitting on the floor, a bit wet and covered in dirt but he didn’t care. Death was more important a virtue to stand on. </p><p>“I’m sorry.”</p><p>And he wasn’t sure if he had forgiven him. He had sent one last goodbye at the chance of a maybe, and it could have been real. It could have been really real. He had been ready to lay it all on him in his last moment, however fucked he may have been on the off chance that he-Boris was real lucky that he was trashed right now.</p><p>It saved him the headache of having to fight his feelings into him. </p><p>“You should be.” </p><p>~</p><p>The night should have been over by now for them. There was no point. He could have walked home himself-it probably would have been better to go and tell him off. “Pack up and go.” “Scram.” “Get lost.” It was in his vocabulary. He had grown up in this city before it was taken away from him. He knew the vernacular and he used it too, unapologetically. It was easy to say good riddance to a stranger; it was easy to give a man hell. He had been telling himself over and over that it was a waste to take it out on him, the tense shudder in his shoulders already bearing the weight of his idiocies. He had almost died. But he was hurting too and no matter how much he cared for him, his own emotions would always lord over him. </p><p>He was going to have to tell Boris this, eventually. They just wouldn’t work no matter what they tried. There was a reason why their teenage years never came to be. He wanted too much to ask for. He could see that now.</p><p>They were making their way to his apartment complex and it was as good a time as any to say something. He could leave on business right after the holidays and no one would be the wiser that anything happened if he acted now. He could just say that he had to leave for work again and everything would return to normal, he could retreat and go back to their regularly scheduled program, those days without Boris just being that, days, and he could imagine himself back in routine where he was just left to himself and his drugs and his antiques. He could check his emails and go to shows and sell his products without so much of a hassle with very little thought over what may be waiting at his door or in what instance; he could live in bliss with the thought that he could sleep a night without anyone barging in his house or knocking angrily at his door; he drink and smoke as much as he wants, without nefarious activities in mind and the goading to do more, to see more, before he kicked the bucket and that was the end of it; he could live by his lonesome; he could be unbothered and independent and live normally in the fact that he was a man, working nine-to-five and single and happy and free from the responsibilities of another that have been so aggressively imposed on him. </p><p>It would be okay. He could move past this. He had done it once before and he could do it again. It was all a mind over matter anyways. Anyone could forget with a few drinks and boy, was he a connoisseur of the act. He was the black-out idiot drunk after all. They had made it to his apartment door in a knick of time and before he knew it he had to face him and give it to him straight. He didn’t see any opportunity coming like this again and he knew he had to take it as it is. </p><p>He knew it had to be done. </p><p>“Well, this is my place.” Theo began. He was going to have to tell it to him straight; get over it; rip it off like a bandaid; it was hard but he had to find the words, even if he found himself with a lump in his throat and his fingers twitching as he stood by his door and fought himself to be the bigger man and do what he had to do. It was better for the both of them. If anyone were to have told him that this would have happened in his life, he probably would have hurt them or scoffed in their face and left the room with an uneasy laugh, thoughts spiraling and the only thought being just what did they know, was he that obvious? All he wanted now was for this all to go away. All he wanted was peace. He couldn’t live with it otherwise. </p><p>“We have to talk.” He told him and he bit his lip in the process in an attempt to keep himself sane. It was all he could do in this haze of drunkenness, when the thoughts and the words were escaping him quickly and it was all he could do to keep himself in the moment and get through to him because he sure as hell would be able to tell him sober. </p><p>“This wasn’t a good idea. We shouldn't do this again. It’s not good for us.” He told him and then in an afterthought: “It’s not good for me.” He was waiting for a reaction, something to tell him that he understood and would be going, leaving; simple finality; something that would tell him what to do. But when  he didn’t get one, no reaction, nothing, just a blank stare, that stupid clouded look that he could just do on command, he had the inclination to to give him hell for it.</p><p>“I know you wanted to help me and all, but I’m a lost cause alright.” He barked out.“I can’t...be happy.” He wasn’t cut out for that exciting life. He was already a rollercoaster of emotions as it is. One more of these, these heart-attack inducing incidents and he didn’t know if he would make out alive. His heart was pounding out of his chest and he was feeling absolutely vile as if about to vomit or fall from a really high ledge. This is why he said he wasn’t made for these kinds of things. If he couldn’t handle himself what made him think he could handle Boris?</p><p>“You get it, right? It’s not something we can just do.” He huffed out when he didn’t get anything out of this. The blank stare was getting old and his head was giving more hell than he thought it would. He had to lean against the doorframe for leverage. He should have realized he was way too over his head. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that it won’t work. You can see it already from today. We’re not meant for this, Boris. Neither of us are. You can stand and insist that it is, but at the end of the day, we already know who is lying to themselves and who isn’t. I can’t be fixed and neither can you. We’re fucked up and I can’t-want you. And neither can you.”</p><p>“You can leave the country. It would be okay with me. I get it. Or if not, you can be around, but this never happened.” He insisted. He had to insist. He had to let him know, make clear of this. There had to be a boundary made somehow and he was their best bet in making one. “We can forget about it in about a week or so.” He said. “It’s just how we are. You’ll drink and I’ll drink and by the end of this, all of it could be just some weird dream where nothing ever happened and we can be, I don’t know, normal.” </p><p>He was expecting a rebuttal or an acquiescence, something to tell him that it was final or that heard any of that at all. He knew Boris was smart. He knew exactly what he fucking said if he paid attention but it seemed that he didn’t or refused to and it made him angry cause he was making this a thousand times harder than it had to be. They had only had dating for a few hours and he was already such a mess. This wasn’t a breakup. He didn’t need to put in all that effort. </p><p>This was enough as it is. </p><p>“Fine. Be that way. It’s fine if you don’t say anything. Easier for one of us, huh?” he muttered. He turned to open his door, an escape route if you would, as he turned around to comment. It was only that and nothing else. As soon as he said his part, he would be on the other side of that door and Boris was just going to have to get used to it. It was a hard-ass thing to do, but a necessary one, even if his heart was palpitating out of his chest and his sides were on the brink of restricting. Of course this was hard for him too, but it was for the best. He was going to have to be the bigger man out of the both of them. </p><p>“I guess I’ll see you-”</p><p>And then Boris was kissing him. Boris was kissing him. Boris was kissing him and he made a noise in the back of his throat, surprised as he was slammed back against his door, hard, so hard that the breath was knocked out of him and he was swallowed, viciously. He had to press his hands against the doorframe to keep himself steady, afraid of falling, scared of dying but this assurance felt real and true and something that he could never say with words. When he finally released him there was a trail of spit sticking between them, a trace of what they had just done, of what he had let him done and shocked and wide-eyed and impossibly flushed, he stared at him like had grown two heads, touching his hand to his lips in a kind of awe that he didn’t know could overtake him.  </p><p>“Open the door.”</p><p>He obliged.</p><p>As soon as he got inside, Boris was back on him and herding him to his bedroom as he quickly shut the door with his foot. Past a table and chair-the couch took a hit at his knees which almost caused him to double over at one point- and then they had crashed into his wall as Boris pulled apart his neat little necktie and grabbed him roughly and sucked. He keened to the sensation, limp and forgetting himself but then his heart raced and almost pulled him off of him, trembling and terrified  at the way that Boris was making him go mad and he didn’t know if he wanted to continue or forget that it ever happened. Now they were back to this where it was happening, it was fucking happening and they made it this far, to his place, where he backed up onto his bed and Boris was crawling all over him, practically feral in his appetite and the dire want to-to have his way with him. Just moments ago he was desperate for a reprieve, for a way to end all this but he should have known that that would never work; they were just getting to the best part.   </p><p>He took off his glasses, mostly because they would get in the way and mostly because it would be probably too much to see right now and it was really just unfair how at ease Boris was being, even after having escaped death only yesterday and his chest was probably killing him. Maybe he should be telling him to get off, rest, because this sure as hell wouldn’t be good for his health right now. It would have been the responsible thing to do. Hell, it would have been the right thing to do. They could have stopped and have been normal, maybe watch a movie and fall asleep on the bed to the sounds of unintelligible banter from the television like normal people. They could have stopped all of that and thought for a second on how messed up they were and how much they just needed affection or a way to say they matter, but that wasn’t going to happen. If anything, this was a fight between them and their love-making was proof of that; they always did their best when they were at odds with each other. </p><p>Boris pulled at his shirt. He let him pull it off as he tried to yank at the camel hair that he forgot to leave at the door when they first barged in. Boris was almost too happy to help, eagerly pulling shoving off the layers and he almost worried for his sanity with the way he grew impatient at the fact that he wanted it off. He wanted everything off. It was just a primal urge to have everything tossed aside and lay naked, a want so fierce he had almost forgotten about it. And here he was now, naked and Boris was just as about as well-dressed as before, save for his tousled hair and that manic, not very well-to-do look in his eye. He realized he was probably the only one getting completely naked at this point. Boris was too far gone and he was far too embarrassed to pull anything off him now. It looked like he wouldn’t get very far if he tried. </p><p>Boris looked like he wanted to eat him alive. </p><p>It was a fight and he had lost. This was what he got for losing, rutting against a hand that wouldn’t give him what he wanted and desperate for some friction, but unwilling to ask, he was at a limbo, even when he willingly stripped down and obeyed, even he finally gave himself to a yes. </p><p>It didn’t feel like a loss. </p><p>There were times where the urge to be vile persisted past the age of adolescents and the punches and kicks and slaps were the norm, the bruises were simply fact. It was not personal; it was just how they worked. Self-destruction was an inevitability and so it was a welcome whenever those hits and cries were from something else entirely; it was welcome whenever it came from another hand. </p><p>They were too old to stop those old habits now, their pasts still haunting the same, their reflexive habits just as how they’ve been before: violent. There was something comforting in the struggle for something powerful, to fold over or to play the bad guy. The feeling forced a new beginning of their own fruition, something that they could control without the threat of eventual demise. There was only a moment of pushing and pulling; scratching and biting; fits and heavy breathing which led to an finaly and a shout and which made the world all the more breathable.</p><p>That’s how they loved after all.</p><p>Theo couldn’t be gentle so he fought back with persistence. Theo couldn’t sit still so he was twisting and shaking about so that Boris couldn’t get a good grip on him and he would be forced to pin him down to the bed. Theo couldn’t be sweet so he kicked and bit, never mind that his dick was hard; never mind that his body was pleading with himself, telling him to stop and just give in, wanting to the point that it hurt and he was leaking all over the bedsheets. This was his prayer. This was his way of showing it, that he wanted something that would fill him with the little reassurance that they could work. This could work.</p><p>He turned his head away as Boris leaned closer, breath in his face, when he stopped wiggling about and he was able to get a good grip on him. He forced his eyes to turn on him, gripping his head until they were staring at each other and he was trying to look away, this was too close for him but Boris refused, maintaining his hold on him. He struggled under his grip on him, blinking fast to get his visage out of his field of vision which was hard when you were forced to look straight at it. </p><p>“Дорогая.” He breathed. </p><p>He didn’t dare to comment. He was already decidedly mute. His throat had gotten dry and he gulped because of the way the veins in his arms were twitching under grip; the way the heat from his breath seemed to be clawing into his skin and he was under the influence, head high and thoughts a flurry. The beer was bitter in his face, the stench incredibly familiar, the brand not making a difference and he almost reached up to swallow it. </p><p>Boris closed the distance between them, his hands held firm on his arms and he strained to reach back, reach back and touch him and he couldn’t, not until he released him to put a hand to his crotch and rub one under him. His dick strained against him, swollen at this point, and he gasped when a hand began to press on him, harder and take him in his grip and twist. He groaned, and as Boris leaned forward to kiss him, he obliged because it was better than making a mess with his words. He continued pumping within an inch of his life, slow and then faster again, stopping at inopportune intervals that had him crying out loud, whining out from under him and he was half-undone, squirming and breathing harshly into his neck as he shouted, halfway there, and then Boris backed off and looked into his eyes, tender. He thought about telling him off for stopping, thought about it, but then when he stopped, he was pressing his hand between his legs and looking like it was almost too much to ask of him. </p><p>He knew what he wanted. </p><p>He took a deep breath, to still his thoughts and look at Boris, really look at him without losing himself to the mantra of words in his mind that were forever streaming continuously and he couldn’t take it. It took all he had to wrap his arms around him and inhale, to steady himself, to steady his breathing and stop his trembling, his hands shaking on his sides that pulled on the front of Boris’s cotton shirt and never let go. He smelled like cardamom, Dolce &amp; Gabbana “The One.” There was probably some meaning to the name of it but decided to ignore it, instead favoring to smell it off his neck, heart thumping, thoughts slowing as he wondered what kind of aromatherapy bullshit this scent had on him now. He backed up and looked up into Boris’s eyes and nodded. </p><p>He was only going to say it once. </p><p>Boris took his hand and kissed it, muttering into it like a prayer before he let his arm trace a line over his back and then grip him, his nails sure to leave indents in the skin. Quickly, Boris put his hand in a bottle of lube in his back pocket-the bastard, almost dropping it in the process as he rushed to get it open. He rubbed his hands together, coating his hands completely until they were well-covered and shining, like he had to make a point out of it. </p><p>When Boris stuck his forefinger in him almost cried out from the sudden intrusion. He knew it was coming, but it still shocked him how much he could remember it and had tried to forget, over and over he had tried to erase it with every poison in his arsenal until he too could scarcely remember who he was. It had never worked. Somehow the scenes had always come back to him. </p><p> It was warm. He knew that much. Longer finger and no bracelets; same boney arms and freckled skin; hairier; a bit bigger; lanky to all hell. He couldn’t see much out of his clothes save for the few strips of skin that peaked out from his collar and the tip of that Jewish star on his forearm peaking out. He must have taken off his rings back when he was too preoccupied to care. There was an absence of metal to the feel of him, strong and sure-footed in the way he made him feel. He had one in and before he knew it there were two, then three and then he knew he was done for. He was just barely aware that he was keeling over and crying out against him. He had to bite himself to prevent himself from saying more.  </p><p>Boris’s belt then hit the floor and his zipper was opened, the strain from before long gone and only as his dick pulled out from its constraints, hot and leaking, a trail forming on his legs as he stared, mouth wide, and then he had to look away again, the way Boris was smirking doing things to him. He lined himself up with him, lining up his legs on opposite sides of him and keeping himself parallel to him; perfectly aligned. </p><p>He could feel a countdown going off in his head. The closer he got, the louder it became, the sound like an alarm bell to his heart; he didn’t know how much more he could take of this; he didn’t know how long he would last and apparently he was thinking of this right now, when he was trembling and red all over and felt like this was an end. Or a beginning. He wasn’t so sure anymore. </p><p>When he was about to press in, he had just enough awareness to stop and push him away. Boris almost looked like he would cry, but that’s not what he meant at all and he wanted him to know that. Anxiety-ridden, he gave him a peck and shifted slightly, to move his arms that were beginning to entrap him, and slowly moved his legs over his head. </p><p>“Cause of your chest.” He said and it may have been the first time he had said anything at all during sex. </p><p>They looked at each other, at a loss for words on what exactly he had just done, him flushing red and Boris looked like he just about expired. He stopped for a moment, shocked, but moved his legs to accommodate the position better and angle himself to move in just the way he wanted. </p><p>“Better?”</p><p>He chose to stare at his collar. </p><p>“Yeah.” </p><p>Guess the no-talking rule was over now. </p><p>As he pushed in, he was intimately aware of every groan, his or Boris’s-it didn’t matter at this point-was resounding against the walls of his flat, how he could hear every movement, every stretch, every huff of air shared as he tried to concentrate on the moment and not if the neighbors could hear him or how a noise stuttered out of him and he was straining hard to keep himself contained. Boris was in all the way and both looked at each other shocked at the revelation, pausing. They didn’t know what to do with themselves. </p><p>Then Boris started moving and it was like he was jolted awake. He could feel the movement and he fell back, startled, as he felt his voice hitch and his muscles grow taut as he went back down, hitting slow, slower and then faster and gaining momentum to the point he was reaching upwards and moving with him without thought, an animal to the pleasure until he couldn’t control himself and reached and- </p><p>“Ah!” </p><p>That was loud. That was very loud and Boris looked to him like he was pleased, grinning as he huffed in time with him, groaning, gasping, taut and strained his body language telling him that he was at his limits. He could feel himself coil before the finale, strung out and begging. </p><p>“Say it again.” Boris breathed. </p><p>That was too much to ask of him. To tell him to do anything at all was too much for him at this point, the wordless instruction the only clue as to what he really wanted and what he was really willing to go through with. Boris was eager however, manic at this point, keening and looking at him as if he were made of stars, wanted it, wanted him to relinquish control, and trust him. He didn’t want to break open in front of him. He didn’t want everything out there for the world to see which was stupid because there was only his bedroom and a man, but that was his world. That was <em> his </em> world. There were only so few things he could do to keep contained about himself and to let loose now would be to leave everything out there between them, to card his fingers in his hair and call him his; to break down and cry and know that he would be his rock to steady him; there was a fine line between the times he had loved him and the time up until now; he always thought it would end. </p><p>He was so scared all the time and he just wanted it to end. Take him and give him nothing. Silence the thoughts. Silence everything, until there was no more. He was all too aware of the human suit that he had worn, to appear normal and to feel well-liked or loved and he was dancing on the possibility that one day it would end from his own undoing. The amount of times he had come close were astounding, and the only one who had kept him upright was Boris, time and time again. And the one time he wasn’t there and he nearly died in his bathroom and no one would know until it was too late, Boris wasn’t there. Boris wasn’t there when he was sobbing into his toilet, none the wiser of the times he had felt so lost and alone. It had happened one more time, in Amsterdam, when he thought he had nothing left. He had swallowed those pills and thought he would never wake up, just another foreigner who had died in a foreign country. He had thought all was lost to him and that he was never going to find joy in anything; he had nothing to offer in this life. </p><p>It wasn’t like that anymore, not by a longshot. Boris was giddy above him, covered in sweat causing his hair to fall all over the place; in his mouth; in his eyes; he looked like he was in a punk band, in a way singing his heart out. He couldn’t see the whole of his face anymore-too much hair-but he could tell that he was smiling, the flash of his teeth cutting between the whirlwind of curls as he moved towards a crescendo and he had just as well followed, light-headed and dizzy and filled with so much love that he didn’t know what to do with himself. He pressed his face on him, forehead-to-forehead as he reached his peak, ready to risk it all. </p><p>“Boris!”</p><p>He came and Boris soon followed after. </p><p>~</p><p>“I think you always wanted to be perfect.” Boris said softly. </p><p>They were lying against the bedsheets, facing the ceiling, so close that they could almost touch but exhausted and still save for the compression of their chests as they tried to catch their breaths, moving in and out, the only confirmation that they were alive at all. As he laid there he thought back on what he had just done, firmly trying to situate himself with it in his mind but nevertheless the shock of it was having him stare over into space until he wasn’t aware of anything but the heat in his cheeks and the panic that still resided in him, kept in check but still there and keeping him locked in place unable to do anything. Only Boris’s voice really grounded him to place, the sound echoing across the bedroom and in his heart as Boris talked; to the room; to him; it didn’t seem to matter to him; all he really cared about was saying it out loud and maybe, just maybe, he would hear him. </p><p>“You would say it was because of your mother.” He was saying. “‘Would she do this? Would she approve of that?’ But really, you just wanted to seem perfect.” He was spouting off so much nonsense that he couldn’t help looking at him, bewildered, but Boris just sighed, rubbing his temples in frustration as he waved his hands about. “It’s true. Don’t you see?” More waving. “Those times when you got drunk off your ass and would not remember a thing the next day-you’d do something stupid and I would remember for you.”</p><p> “You still wanted to be the rich little boy with the glasses and sweater vests. You wanted to stay in that world. And being with me, in that place-you were not the same anymore. You couldn’t be like before, and you hated for it.” He said it so matter-of-factly that he had to wonder how long he had thought of this, how long he wanted to say this aloud without him fleeing or looking for a scrap. Perhaps it was the exhaustion that was telling him it was alright, for him to continue and say whatever he thought right now. Boris was always one to take the opportunity and this time it was no different. He had him under lock and key, quite literally.  </p><p>“You hated so you stole. And did drugs. Because you were not in the same world anymore as before. You were in a hole-other dimension, other place, and you did what you wanted because there were no rules anymore. There was no reason to follow the stuffy rules you were told to follow in New York anymore.” </p><p>“Only you still thought everything you did was wrong-you still cared. You thought your mother would hate you, so you kept drinking and taking drugs, doing whatever. Sticking with me even when it made you worse. You drank and smoked, took anything to feel good, bad; you didn’t care really. The more guilty you were of your mother, the worse you got, and the more you wanted-the more you wanted to die.” Boris’s face broke into one of pain, like the thought haunted him more than he cared to admit. He carded his hands into his hair to alleviate some of it, putting his hand to his face to cover it, shaky and gulping down air like his life depended on it. He watched, transfixed, in a horribly curious way as his Adam’s apple bobbed and his breath hitched, like the words would hurt him if he said it out loud. </p><p>“The more you wanted to leave me.”</p><p>“I made you bad.” Boris said to him. There was no room anymore, no excuses to talk for the sake of talking. They were well past that. This was a conversation, an admittance to something felt and it would have been so much easier if they had just admitted their feelings and then had simply gone from there, a happy distraction from just how fucked up they were; they could have gone on with their lives obvious to it all, smoking and drinking and snorting without all the talking, all the dire need for resolution; they could have just gotten into bed and dreamed, comforts to their own physical heartaches, pulling on arms and legs like a necessity, simply living, inhaling the life out of another. It was a nice thought,to be ignorant of the calamity that they harbored, but that ignorance was a bliss that could never be kept; after all, they were just two sides of the same coin. </p><p>He wanted to touch him, reach out maybe and just say something, stop this painful monologue from coming into fruition in the first place. He sounded so far away from him, even though they were so close, closer than they had been in a long time that it still didn’t feel real. If he pinched himself, he didn’t know if he could trust himself; the way the world felt, how it practically turned on its axis over the course of a few hours and here was, talking about feelings and old grudges, something unprecedented to him that felt awkward when it shouldn’t be; he almost wished for the fighting to ensure. How simple everything felt as a teenager, when feelings could be exchanged for punches, when kisses could be bruises and breaks and never talked about, or else they (he) would lose it, a product of their own environment and shitty upbringing. </p><p>“I left you.” </p><p>He wasn’t so sure who left who at this point. </p><p>“I wanted you angry. But I wanted to stay. Potter, I wanted you to stay.” He was so insistent he could hear the break in his voice. He was pushing himself; he knew this. He sounded scrapped raw, pleading, wanting to believe it so much that he was reduced to these animalistic cries of pain and he could hear them now; he really sounded like an animal, wounded and so incredibly alone despite the fact that he was already there. He was already there so close but he could offer him any comfort; his face broke, cracked in half. </p><p>Boris continued despite it all, eyes shining and hair a mess falling all over and into his face as he tried to smile. He really tried to smile despite all of this and it just felt too much for Theo. </p><p>He really was too perfect. </p><p> “It wasn’t possible. You had family; another life; that Mr. Hobie. And no matter how I say that our Vegas and New York are the same. There's no good or bad. There was bad. And that bad was me.” He could see a few tears fall from his eyes, and he removed them deftly, scrubbing his eyes clean even as they continued to fall. He couldn’t blame him. </p><p>He was crying too.</p><p>“That painting was the last I had. Of you. Because I was selfish and I wanted something more than me. That painting was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen and knowing you took it, that you would always be the better thief; I had to best you.” He laughed, a self-righteous Boris laugh that had him smile, shallowly, even as he choked up a big ugly sob and he felt his heart sink down to his toes.</p><p> “I needed to have some part of you.” </p><p>There it was; everything always came down to it, The Goldfinch, that goddamn painting that caused him so much trouble over the years. It was like he could never escape from it, suffocating in its glory and the way it made him feel. He knew what it was like to have something secretive, something to obsess over without anything really knowing it was ever there; something beautiful amidst the burning endless desert was simply necessary when you lived the way that he did. He was just a dumb kid that couldn’t just go back and bring something like that to the authorities, no, he had to keep it taped up and covered under a wrapping of newspapers and pillows and hoard it, like a hermit, the last thing that he had that was ever really important to him for years, years at a time. He couldn’t blame Boris for it really. He kept it for his mother; he kept it for him. </p><p>It was ridiculous how much they had faltered over something so precious; how much they had bent over backwards for something they loved, would continue loving, forever. Every piece of art that touched them would keep them in its vices-art was a powerful thing. It could lord over them, lord over the soul and keep them chained, changed and captivated over what it meant, and what it will continue to mean overtime, to each and every person it would come across. No wonder Dorian had fallen so hard; no wonder people had died over a little bird. There was nothing to keep them from straying towards a love so benign that they could lose themselves over what could really matter; affection for a thing could be both a blessing and a curse. </p><p>He doesn’t think he could ever excuse what he had done all those years and how Boris had gotten all caught up in it, a piece to a saga that pushed the boundaries of persistence to its max and to willingness to whatever it took to capture something that almost felt alive. He couldn’t excuse that, and he feels like in Boris’s mind, he couldn’t excuse himself either. How they had gotten themselves in this crossroad, he had no idea, but he could make the best of it, now, when touch was possible and there were possibilities for them, a them, where what they had for a painting could be given to each other, rightfully. He took Boris’s hand and held it tight, a reassurance and a promise on his lips, that he could do better, that they could do better. Time could still be up for them; they weren’t dead just yet. </p><p>It could be enough, for the both of them. </p><p>“I’m here now, okay?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Translation:</p><p>Дорогая - Darling (male)</p><p> </p><p>This chapter is dedicated to this really hot sex scene of a buddy of mine when he hooked up with a dom girl. Used a bit of the story for inspo. He said I could so yayyy, thanks man! </p><p>As for the sex, it’s fine. Actually possible had a lengthy discussion with a medical acquaintance and due to the graze being on the upper chest, it was possible. That and he’s a drug addict-cocaine was the main culprit. </p><p>I’d rather not debate on this.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. A Formal Poofter Get-Together</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Don’t do anything stupid.” was the first thing that had come out of Theo’s mouth as soon as he and Boris made it to the door of Hobart &amp; Blackwell’s one decidedly fair evening. As promised they were to be spending an evening with Hobie eating together and chatting about, a normal activity as ever that could simply be friends may a day, normal and regular event that could pass off as practically any other day but no, Theo’s mind had to supply him with doubts and the possible implications of what they were doing to be-out of nature. He just couldn’t help himself. He just couldn’t keep himself in check so there they were, waiting for him to ring the stupid bell but it looked like he was going into catatonic shock at the door.</p><p>“Since when have I done anything stupid?”</p><p>And there could be a multitude of answers towards this question which all could be said in a glare, a harsh warning despite the constant peaking in the window for their humble host. The constant looking and the tapping of his fingers to his sides told Boris just how serious he was and crossed his heart quickly, holding up his hands in surrender. “Okay. Okay. Scout’s honor.” He said.</p><p>“Since when have you been a scout?” Theo questioned.</p><p>“Since when did you know everything about me, hm?” He countered.</p><p>He knew what he was getting at but it still served to piss him off. “You fucking asshole.” He muttered. He elbowed him on his side, lightly, to make sure that he didn’t hit his upper chest in the aftermath. He still wasn’t sure how much it had healed and wasn’t about to take Boris’s word on it; he already knew he was a liar.</p><p>They went back and forth for a bit, bantering, sneering, Theo almost shoving him to the ground but just holding back enough just enough not to-even though he was severely tempted to-and just when things were about to become more physical, Hobie appeared-must have noticed them what with the commotion they were making, welcoming them warmly and ushering them inside to the smells of a homely meal and a vanilla candle.</p><p>Oh.</p><p>Theo immediately straightened, that deer-in-the-headlights look as prevalent as ever.</p><p>“Hey Hobie.”</p><p>“Hello Mr. Hobie.” Boris couldn’t help but smirk at how quickly he changed his tune; polite; well-mannered; not at all murderous. Theo glared back at him, already hearing what he was thinking and as tense as ever. Hobie, of course, didn’t notice.</p><p>“I hope you like meatloaf, Boris.” Hobie enthused. “Old family recipe.” The entire place was wafting in the smell that could only be described as meat and the longer they lingered, the more hungry he would become and Boris seemed to be thinking the same thing. They had decided to have more of a “liquid diet” the past couple of days and as long as they didn’t smell anything actually edible, they would have been relatively okay, but now that they smelled food, real food-whatever he had made would most definitely be demolished between the two.</p><p>“Sounds delicious.” Boris enthused.</p><p>“Yeah, well he’ll eat anything. It won’t matter.” Theo commented and Boris frowned, but it was true enough. Hobie looked hurt for a minute so he quickly addressed the subject to clarify, not wanting to offend. “Not like that Hobie. Your food is excellent.” He added quickly.</p><p>Hobie just smiled, modest. “Oh, you’re just being nice.”</p><p>“I’m serious. You’re a good cook. Saved me a lot when I was a kid.”</p><p>Boris looked at him, curious. “When you were a kid?”</p><p>“Teenage years.” He clarified.</p><p>Boris beamed brightly at this and looked towards Hobie in appreciation. “You must be a good man. Taking care of him.”</p><p>“Oh, it’s nothing.” Hobie replied offhandedly.</p><p>There he goes again.</p><p>“Nonsense. He talked about you sometimes, back then. You kept him alive and for that I thank you.” He took Hobie’s shoulders in his hands and took him in, seriously, and Theo was thinking was way too close but Hobie didn’t seem to mind; he never seemed to mind at all. Hobie took in the look he was giving him, how serious and earnest he was and began to tear up from it, on how looked back at him like he had deserved everything for just being there. Hobie raising Theo up was always a heartfelt subject, one that he would tell proudly to everyone he could and nearly in tears every time and it was something that had tried to do, tried to raise him right despite the circumstance. He did whatever he could for him and he was being reminded of the fact once again. It wasn’t enough to give a pretty little speech on Christmas, no. Boris had to make the point of it now, again, and remind him like he didn’t already constantly remind himself.</p><p>The food hadn’t even been served but they were already having a heart-to-heart right then and there. They were hugging in front of him of all times looking as they would start bawling their eyes out if he didn't stop to pull them apart. It made him uncomfortable, to see them so close and so adoring of him, bonding over something that he never had any control over and he supposed that at one point they had played the same role in his life: to watch over him. And now they were bonding over it and he was looking to be the fool, again.</p><p>‘No wonder they got along.’</p><p>Were they staring at him? They were staring at him, as if he would get into this dogpile and what, hug it out? He was not that kind of guy. He could not. He refused before. What made them think he would accept it now of all times? He was anxious and weary and uptight and just not made for these things, like physical affection and platonic bonding. What were they to think that he was going to do whatever they wanted just because they were pleading and looking expectantly and wanted to love him with those big eyes and-oh fuck.</p><p>What the hell.</p><p>“This is a one time thing, alright?”</p><p>They didn’t say anything, probably to make him feel better. This was one of those times where he couldn’t get out of it even if he tried. They were all too happy to accommodate him in this ragtag bunch of men, hugging, and now it was a group now, and oh, fuck were they were hugging in the middle of the kitchen and have not even eaten a thing yet, a good and well-to-do meal waiting for them while they reminisced in past mistakes and their dire need to-take care of him? Either way it was fucked up and if he stayed too long, he would start bawling and he was hungry and didn’t want to explain fucking sentimentality today, so he quickly backed out (even though it was nice) and they parted, reluctantly, waiting for him to say something, but he could not. That should be enough for them.</p><p>“So when’s the meatloaf ready?”</p><p>~</p><p>Hobie started laughing as soon as they poured the bourbon they brought, Old Forester, classy and definitely the perfect way to start the night. It went well enough with the meatloaf, the flavors melding easily together and it had gotten to the point where Hobie was forgetting himself and began detailing furnish melding techniques which Theo quickly tried to divert. Boris would surely not be interested in anything such as this but as soon as he tried to change the subject to something more palatable, Boris had interrupted, prompting him to explain in greater detail. Pleasantly surprised, he did, and Boris drank it all up, even without the prompting of drunkenness with which he had seldom indulged in in the presence of the old man. It was more so Theo who had to drink in glass after glass to maintain some sort of form of normalcy in his mind.</p><p>“I swear you boys are two peas in a pod. Anyways together.” Hobie chuckled loudly and without tact. Theo heard it and nearly spit his drink. His mouth was practically on the glass the entire time to save himself the embarrassment of talking and he had to set it on the table as he coughed into his fist. He smiled, strained, when all he wanted to do was sink under the table and never return.</p><p>Boris looked concerned and then started patting his back as the sounds died down and he began to feel sick but was most definitely not going to give up the bourbon. He tried to latch back on the glass again as an excuse to drink and to satiate the feeling in his throat as Boris continued on the conversation as merrily as ever, not even bothering to pull off his arm from him. ‘Mayday! Mayday! Abort!’ his mind couldn’t help but supply but he couldn’t speak. He was still trying to catch his breath. Boris was rubbing his back absentmindedly as he was conversing with Hobie. It was a lose-lose.</p><p>“Well when you’ve been through this and that, you stick together. He’s the blood of my blood. Piece of me.” Boris boasted. He was digging his fingers in.</p><p>“Boris.” He said, strained.</p><p>“What? It’s true.” He said casually. Did he know what he was doing? Did he know what he was doing? His breath picked up and so he shoved him, hard. His clutch could only do so more and he was growing rosey, and couldn’t control his reflexes anymore so his smacked straight across the face which only served to cause an all-out war at the table. Smacking and shoving; pushing and pulling; Theo managed a punch in the gut at one point, all while Hobie watched in interest.</p><p>“You two always make me laugh, I swear.”</p><p>And Theo would like to protest, would like to say otherwise, but he was rather preoccupied at the moment. Boris’s elbow was in his face and his arm was trapped between his armpit as he tried to get a good grip on him, once again forgetting of his previous injury. He should really try to work on that but it was so tempting sometimes that he couldn’t help himself. He flushed, trying to get his bearings as Boris managed to pin his arms behind him and now he was really rethinking the circumstance.</p><p>“It’s nice to see Theo so happy.”</p><p>He had to take a moment to stare until he pulled back until his hands were wretched free from Boris’s sides, scandalized at his actions and his own as he made it back into his seat, trying to sit properly as he straightened up himself (as Boris rolled his eyes) and made a point of scooting his chair, away from Boris’s reach. Boris frowned but didn’t say anything to him (which was a relief). Apparently he too could straighten himself out. As soon as the table became more accomodating, he began regaling his childhood travels as Hobie listened for a time before asking to be excused for a moment.</p><p>He really had drank way too much for his own good.</p><p>As soon as Hobie hobbled away, Theo was on him. “Boris, what did I tell you?” He seethed.</p><p>He cocked his head as if contemplating which only served to piss him off more. He put his hand to his chin in thought, as if it was that hard to figure it out-the asshole-before finally replying. “Not do anything stupid?” He inquired.</p><p>“Yes.” He admonished. “And now look what you’ve done!”</p><p>“I haven’t done anything.” Boris retorted.</p><p>“Yes you did. You can’t just say these things. Like that. What will he think?”</p><p>What would anyone think?</p><p>But Boris didn’t seem to see the big deal in it which only served to frustrate him even more. What right did he have to act like that in front of others? What right did he have to act like that because of him? He was scarcely able to keep himself in check sometimes, always worried over prying eyes and the inkling suspicion that whatever he did, would be seen and then they would know. They would know, but Boris didn’t seem to care about that, too preoccupied in his own little world to care apparently.</p><p>“It’s no big deal, Theo.” He told him. And he would have bitten back a rather nasty response haven’t it been for Hobie trudging back into the room, looking worse for wear.</p><p>“I’m sorry boys. It looks like old age has snuck up on me.” He smiled but it was terribly forced and the way he walked made Theo fearful that he would fall at any moment. Argument forgotten, he almost jumped out of his chair before Hobie put up a hand to stop him.</p><p>“Hobie are you alright?”</p><p>“Yeah, just tired. And maybe drank a bit too much this time.” He muttered and he could see Theo’s eyes widen, like he didn’t want to take his refusal for help for an answer. He sighed, reassuring he was fine and that he just needed to lie down and suggested that they leave now and get on with the night themselves. It was getting late anyways and they could take care of themselves. They should be going by now.</p><p>Before Theo knew it, Hobie was already herding them out the door while Bors good-naturedly thanked him for the time spent. “It was wonderful.” He said while Theo looked to Hobie fretfully as if he was going to pass out any minute. Hobie was fine for the moment, albeit sluggish and the more Theo insisted on giving him pain relief the more he tried to shut the door on him as Boris tried to steer him away.</p><p>“If you need anything-”</p><p>“No. No. I’ll be fine. You boys should head out for the night. I’ll be alright.” He pulled the door on him one more time and Theo finally got the hint, pulling away reluctantly as Hobie finally closed it shut. He smiled, waving, as he wished them a good night and Theo had to turn away as Boris began monologuing and he could only help but lean into him, stuttering in movements as he took one last glance at his work where Hobie resided, already heading to bed, and sighing, turned away.</p><p>“If you say so.” He muttered.</p><p>~</p><p>“He’ll be fine. He can take care of himself.” Boris reassured him once they had walked a ways and Theo still harbored that dark brooding look he tended to get when he was thinking way too hard for his own good. He didn’t like that look. He always looked too serious for his age, way older than he actually was. He had too much on his mind sometimes and it worried him that he could be like this despite the alcohol, despite the amounts of drugs in his system most of the time. He just couldn’t seem to ever forget.</p><p>“You don’t know that.” Theo bit back harshly. It was one of those times. He was sure of it now. He needed to get him back home, quickly, before carnage ensued.</p><p>“He’s at a good age. He’s not in diapers just yet.” He joked, trying to diffuse the tension. He didn’t like the idea of chasing after him right now. The night had been so good. The day had felt so fun. Couldn’t he just for once left them have a good time? Couldn’t he for once relax under the guise of a good drink and not resort to, this? He knew he had tested his limits today. He knew he had and he was regretting it now, even though it had given a rush a new meaning. He had liked it, relished it even. It made it feel real and he wanted more. He always wanted more. But not like this. Not when he looked like he would be crying at any moment.</p><p>And it would all be because of him.</p><p>He could see the way his eyes were shining, all fogged up with tears and confused, so terribly confused and anxious, looking like he was going run away, quick as a minx and who-knows-where, for he was an idiot, completely unpredictable in these situations and so horribly a flight risk that he doesn’t know what he would do. He doesn’t know what he would do and it scared him to think about it. He made sure to keep a grip on him, shaking because he couldn’t help it. The memories were rushing back and he hoped to God that Hobie wouldn’t ever find him on the news or screaming at his window in the middle of the night. Not now. Not ever.</p><p>Theo was getting worse and he knew it. The way he was looking this way and that, like he was trapped, no escape, was haunting him and he had to breathe in deeply and count to ten to keep himself together. There couldn’t be two fucked-up persons here. One was enough.</p><p>“What if he’s not okay?” He yelled at him and he hoped he was talking about Hobie. He really hoped he was talking about Hobie. He had to steer him home now. He couldn’t let go.</p><p>“He will be fine in the morning, just hungover like you.” He replied easily and laughed, just a bit forced. He needed to feel that it was alright. That there was nothing wrong right now and that he could relax and trust him to get where they needed to go. He had no idea what he was thinking at the moment. He didn’t know the time or the place or just how old he believed himself to be. The city could be anything to him for that matter so he tried to keep him calm in the hopes that he wouldn’t create any incident. He really wanted this day to be good, no problems but sometimes he found you could just not get what you wanted and right now was one of them.</p><p>Theo looked like a child at his side which was ridiculous because he towered over him, but nevertheless he did, large and afraid and practically hiding in his shoulder. He would have made fun of it if it wasn't for how serious the situation was.</p><p>He made sure his coat was in his grip.</p><p>It was all he wanted when he was young, for him to cling to his side and press against him, voluntarily, instead of those nice when he had to force him to prove to him just how much he really needed it. He had relished in the fact that he could pacify him, make him calm and keep him close, just a half of a whole that fit perfectly together. What he would have given to have him touch without reason or a couple beers, loving him and only him. He was a boy and he was afraid and he thought if he was there, he could have made it better. But apparently not.</p><p>He couldn’t do everything he wanted.</p><p>“Boris?” He felt the blood pounding in his ears. Theo’s eyes were lost and there in front of him, bigger and brighter and wide like dinner plates. He didn’t seem to notice his hold on his coat or anything for that matter, shiny-eyed and drunk and maybe a little drugged (what did this fucker take without him?) that he was walking blindly, afraid and in trance and it looked like he thought he lost him because his face broke into one of despair, one of those he had gotten whenever he had thought of his mother in their room, hopped up on hallucinogens and chips and leftover vodka and a mess of Xandra’s pills he took when he wasn’t aware of it. It hurt him to look at him but it hurt him more the fact that he could feel how happy it made him to know that he was wanted, to know that this wasn’t just a lie.</p><p>He grabbed his hand for the reassurance and just because he could. He wouldn’t ever let him sober but just this once, just this once he could do it outside and he wouldn’t complain to him or get into a fit or turn into a spectacular shade red as he wretched his hand away and huffed out explicits. He could do it because he wanted to and because of the way he saw Theo relax under his grip and hold on, assured and grateful, so entirely grateful that it made him want to cry, never thinking that this could ever be. He had never deserved it.</p><p>“I am here дорогая.” He assured him.</p><p>“I’m here.”</p><p>~</p><p>When they had gotten to Theo’s apartment complex, Boris let out a sigh of relief. He had no idea if they would get to his home in one piece-there was always that risk-but he was grateful for it. Theo had been clinging onto him like his life depended on it (erratically and without warning) and had gotten distracted a couple of times (the rival antique shop and a cafe his mother had liked were on the way) but had overall followed him after every beck and call despite his incessant worry that he would not listen. He should really arrange for Gyuri to pick him up more often. He had wanted the alone time (and the lack of glaring from the rear-view mirror, such a worrier) but now though, he almost wished for it. Theo was heavy and tall and if he wasn’t careful, he would fall to the ground with the man on top of him.</p><p>He just couldn’t get his way for once.</p><p>“Boris!” He whined in his ear. Whined, because he was under the influence and because the way his voice hitched, elongating the last syllable until he involuntarily shivered, the feeling of the way his throat hummed so intimately against was doing things to him despite how dire the situation was. He really shouldn’t be indulging right now. He really shouldn’t, but he was breathing in his air and they were safe. They were in the elevator so he did indulge, just for a moment and inhaled his scent as they got up to his floor and he had to get back to his senses and guide the poor man to his flat.</p><p>He wrestled with his keys, like he knew he would, until he managed to get them out of his coat pocket and keep him upright as he fiddled with this lock. It wasn’t easy and he had to try at least three times to get it, but when he did, he felt immediate relief as he pushed him in. He couldn’t take the time to be careful anymore. His shoulder was killing him.</p><p>“Okay, you’re inside. Let’s get you to bed.” He announced. One quick look at his demeanor and he was expecting a shout out, an argument of sorts and he quickly locked his door behind him (for his own good) but he listened, having enough sense to toe off his shoes and trudge to his bed as he gawked and then quickly followed, making sure he would actually get to his destination without tripping on his own feet or lunging for a stash of drugs he kept hidden all around the place (he knew where most of them were, he thinks; Theo was never good at hiding things).</p><p>As he watched this idiot walk about like a newborn baby deer, almost knocking into his coffee table twice and looking about like he had no idea where he was, he just knew he had to stay the night. It was for his own good. It looked like he wouldn’t be sleeping anytime soon. If he was like this, he couldn’t be left alone. He knew as much not to. The possibility of that fire came to mind and he had to search his mind quickly, assessing for anything dangerous that he could get into when he wasn’t looking. Theo just watched him quietly, curious as to what he was doing until he sighed, falling atop his bed and yelling suddenly, spooking him and prompting him to make a shushing sign at him which he deftly ignored.</p><p>There were so many times when he would have done something if he wasn’t there; there were so many times which he must have missed where he was at his limit where he must have done something to warrant a good look at. People were so afraid to get into other people’s business in this country, refusing to help or giving a blind eye to the obvious. You weren’t supposed to do anything to help. He was crying, shouting about life and death again like usual and how he wanted anything but a breath and it hurt him inside how he he could be so pained and not say anything until he was hopped up and incoherent, not knowing what he was saying and saying it anyways because he was tight-lipped and holed-up himself, not knowing what to do and knowing his only outlet was this, when he couldn’t remember in the morning and no one would tell him, what he done the day before because they were afraid. They were afraid of him.</p><p>It was ridiculous to be afraid of someone so pained. It was ridiculous to refuse the obvious, to just leave him like that, up in his own problems and not saying a thing. He deserved more than that. He deserved more than the far-away looks he gave, not really there, somewhere else; a flashback; a memory; a fantasy; he couldn’t even stay where he was for long, otherwise he would close up, a shell of a man that was only walking from one destination to the next, deftly ignoring everything gave him finally, refusing it, refusing it for all time until he broke and screamed and became: this.</p><p>Faraway and distant; unknowing and incoherent; a man in pain; a boy in too big of a body; he was here and always the same, just older and with less hope; just a man without a reason to be one; just sitting on his bed and crying into his arm and getting his glasses all waterlogged while he stood there, watching and looking like a fool when he felt himself stop himself and do nothing, hurt suddenly with all the thoughts he carried about this, about all of this and he couldn’t tell who was worse; him or himself.</p><p>“I have nothing!”</p><p>They did have nothing. It was pathetic but they didn’t have anything before and he was crying again when he should be the man here. He was the one coherent enough to think for the both of them but caught up in his own musings, he was stuck, just like him and it wasn’t fair because he had to be good for the both of them. He couldn’t succumb to that. He couldn’t. He must-be bigger. Be better. One of them had to take care of the other and Theo needed that now. He desperately needed that. Who was he to stand on the sidelines anymore? He wasn’t a stranger anymore. So mustering up all the courage he had he sat by his bedside, choked up and wanting, wanting so bad to make him better that he didn’t know what to do with himself. He wiped his eyes quickly, so he wouldn’t see and put on his best smile. He needed to be happy. For him. Only one of them could be able to get that low.</p><p>“Theo.” He pleaded.</p><p>He didn’t listen to him. He had to shake him to even get a reaction. This bastard was messing with his fucking mind and finally he couldn’t take it anymore (he was refusing to meet his eyes) so he grabbed his face until they were eye-level so they had to look at each other, they had to, even if he want to. “Do you see me?” He asked. Theo nodded and closed his eyes for a moment, relieved before he looked at him again, eyes piercing. He had an idea of what he could do, but he needed all of his attention. He could not lose him to his own inebriation.</p><p>“Do you know what we could do to help?” He asked. He traced his hands low from his shoulders to where he was holding onto him down to his arms, moving his hands down to his sides to see if he could get a reaction. He did. He grinned at the involuntary shudder he gave and knew that he could keep him preoccupied for the time being. Forget being sad for the moment. He needed to calm down. Theo needed to calm down. And he needed to do this to keep him satiated, he would be glad to. He needed him to be better. He needed him to know.</p><p>“You know what you mean to me, right?” He squeezed his thighs to make a point of it and he trembled for a moment, tongue-tied as he saw him bend downwards, towards his crotch as his slacks bunched and he pressed it, earning himself a hiss as he skimmed his belt buckle with his fingers, contemplative. His sight faltered looking up at him-he had a sizable enough amount to drink as well but he chose to ignore it, favoring the look Theo gave him as he bit his lip, unsure of what to say.</p><p>“Do you want me to show you how much I care for you? Because I can show you, if you let me.” He told him. He leered and as he grabbed what he could underneath the fabric and held it, under his grip, he could see that he wanted it as well. He nodded and that was all he needed for the go-ahead.</p><p>“You matter a lot to me, Potter, but I suppose you need it to be seen.”</p><p>He may have been a little unorthodox but as the saying went, if it was not broke, don’t fix it. It had helped him before and it had for him, as well back then. Those nights were in a morbid way some of his fondest, when despite the pain he had given him pleasure, the way he huffed and keened in front of him told him all the more that he was doing something right. He made him want to feel heard.</p><p>He pulled it out and there it was, burning hot and he grinned even as Theo frowned back at him-so hard to please. He would have to do better. Touching it lightly, he could see him seize up, get impatient with him as he rubbed the shaft between his fingers lightly. Before he really did anything, he stared at him straight in the eye, licking his lips to really sell it as Theo’s breath stuttered and he smiled, satisfied with himself.</p><p>“This is how much.” He said and he took the entirety of his dick into his hands and kissed the tip as he looked at him straight in the eyes, his browns piercing his, and he see could see the way that he flushed as he moved his lips upward to the sides of the shaft to and kissed him there, and then downwards, then the tip and the base, prolonging it until he felt the aftershock of cold rings on his skin. His teeth flashed back at him until he pulled them off, slowly and then gripped him. He licked his tip and then sucked, as he keened against him and sighed as he gripped his thighs for balance.</p><p>“This.” He muttered against him. He popped his mouth off of him to tell him, serious as he told him softly. “This is how much I care for you.”</p><p>He went back on him and sucked and then moved forward, satisfied as he legs moved to accommodate him. He surged forward, until he met the base and then pulled back, back to the tip, pressing harshly in a self-satisfied manner until he hit the base again, again and again, swirling his tongue against the shaft until his legs were twitching and Theo was biting his fist to keep himself quiet, the pressure sure to make a mark.</p><p>He popped off again to look at him, kissing his dick in reverence, his kisses wet and sticky, doing things to Theo as tried to get what he wanted across his stupid head.</p><p>“This.”</p><p>A kiss on the tip.</p><p>“This.”</p><p>A kiss on the shaft.</p><p>“This.”</p><p>One on the base.</p><p>He moved a hand to swipe across it, moving his hands to cup his balls slightly before letting go, looking up to him reverently as he surged forward before giving him a smile.</p><p>“I love it all.”</p><p>He took it all in with one fluid motion and held it there, even as his eyes teared up and his head got all foggy; he held on until he could feel it coming, in the back of his throat, until Theo yelled and he held on and swallowed everything, nails digging into his thighs as he took it in and while Theo shakily placed his hands to his hair (an affirmation, a confirmation to something, being there between them? He didn’t know. He never said, with words at least) and held on while he shook from the effort and Theo’s eyes rolled to the back of his head. He knew he did a good job and couldn’t help but murmur approval as he pulled off and touched himself. But he was already cold.</p><p>Theo was gone and so was he, not even realizing. He fell back and and collapsed, those hands becoming limp, his eyes getting closed and as he tucked him in and stole his glasses hanging off the bridge of his nose, his pants in most definite need of a washing and Theo most definitely giving him hell in the morning (hangover or not), he couldn’t help smiling at the scene before him, how that frown had gotten slack and his hair was a mess, a rat’s nest of golden hair from slamming his head against his bed frame and rubbing himself on his shoulder. He knew he wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight-too risky-but he didn’t mind it so much, looking at his sleepy face and touching his cheek, enamored in the way he rubbed against it. He couldn’t have everything but he could have this, moments like these when it felt all worth it and it was; he was worth it to him.</p><p>He always was.</p><p>~</p><p>Theo woke up in different clothes to the ones he remembered himself in, just a whitebeater and his boxers that he most certainly did not have on last night. He was completely covered in his down blanket which was a first and while he moved forward to get up, groggy and in need of a painkiller, he turned to find Boris on his other side only in his underwear and peering back at him like a serial killer.</p><p>“Good morning.”</p><p>He rubbed his head in an attempt to get rid of the image. His head was hurting. He needed meds. And clothes. Boris was a pain and practically naked in front of him, in the morning. He needed coffee before all this bullshit.</p><p>“Were you always staring at me?” He asked exasperatedly.</p><p>Boris nodded. “All night.”</p><p>“God.”</p><p>He knew what that meant, being awake all night, but Boris chose not to talk about, instead turning to get up and stretch, pulling his arms over his head to pull his back until he could see every bump and gash he had on his back and arms, covered in a smattering of tattoos and turning to crack every bone in his body as his scars stretched with him, so many scars. He turned to look away but not before Boris had caught him staring. Boris thankfully didn’t care to address it.</p><p>“What’s for breakfast?” He said instead.</p><p>“Hold on a moment.” He rubbed his eyes to clear his muddled head. He doesn’t remember much of last night. Everything was all a blur. “How did we get here? How did-” And then he realized and stopped speaking altogether.</p><p>“Ah, so you remember.” He could just tell that he was grinning.</p><p>He put his head to his hands. “Christ.” He groaned.</p><p>“You shouldn’t say in vain.” Boris reprimanded him.</p><p>He knew he didn’t believe in that bullshit so he smacked his hand hard as he felt a hand reach to touch his hair. He wouldn’t let his eyes let up to look at him.</p><p>“Shut up.”</p><p>And Boris did for a moment as he set to collect himself, instead taking glasses from the night and handing them to him. He gratefully took them as he silently thanked him for the silence and he rubbed his temples, the image of him between his legs refusing to leave his mind. He was tempted to go and crush some pills from his little tin right about now. He knew he still had some left. It would probably make him feel better.</p><p>But he should have known better that Boris wouldn’t keep the silence for so long. He was giving him a calculating glance as if it was trouble (which it almost certainly was) and he knew he was in for it now. He got tense in the shoulders and he waited for him to go off, go ruin the tentative morning with talk and feelings and all that bullshit.</p><p>“You didn’t dislike it.” He tried to say offhandedly.</p><p>He knew what was coming but he still choked on thin air when he said it, scandalized even though it’s happened thousands of times before. It was never acknowledged, before and now it was out in the open and he had the anxious desire to look about as if anyone could have possibly heard them. He knew he was being ridiculous but he couldn’t help and Boris obviously knew that but now he had wanted him to say it and he had to swallow his pride as he looked at him, mortified but managed to mumble it out, even if it was garbled and it was only but a whisper.</p><p>“No...”</p><p>He hoped that that was enough, that Boris would make him speak all the thoughts he had out loud. He would rather set himself on fire. He was getting better at it, this whole dating-a-male thing, but it was still hard for him and very secret and he could only do so much until they were alone, and even then…</p><p>Boris was usually accommodating. Boris would usually leave him off the hook. He would sigh and then change the subject or do something with his tongue so he didn’t have to or he would wait until he would nod or at the edge so he could press, so he would have no choice, no choice at all but to afirmate because by then it was all touch and feel and little space between that he could go “yes,” “yes”and then there would be stars and no chance to overthink it or go into a crisis, because if he just ignored, just held onto the back that it was just Boris, it was just Boris, he could see himself alive without having to atone himself.</p><p>Today was not one of those days.</p><p>“Tell me you liked it.” He said.</p><p>It was one of those times he wouldn’t take no for an answer. And he just admitted he did, so why did he have to insist? He knew the truth just as well as he did. Why did he have to force him like this? It happened all the time whenever they were out and about and he would have to whisper-scream for him to shut up, slap his hand away and walk across the street because he just couldn’t take it. It was too much for him. He had gotten to the point he understood him, stayed long enough with him to understand what he was like, and how he would grow anxious from a touch and would refuse to be as close as he wanted to be. Friendly touching was fine but sometimes-it got too close to what he always feared to be in front of people.</p><p>He turned away before Boris could put a face. He didn’t want any of this right now. He should go and check on Hobie, see the store. He should be getting ready by now instead of playing one of Boris’s stupid fucking games. He wanted to tell him off. He wanted to tell him no, yell at him to stop or march into the kitchen to grab the cup of coffee he desperately needed. Anything to get off the topic of this again. He needed a break, away time if you will. He was getting antsy the more time he stayed in this room and he was desperate for a reprieve. It felt absolutely suffocating. Boris was watching and he was watching Boris and it was just a shitshow at this point over who was watching who, who was going to cave in and goddamn it, he needed drugs, now, before he lost all chance of function and he was reduced to a beating heart and a panicked man in his 20s.</p><p>“Please.”</p><p>There he goes again, all desperate and shit, holding onto him like a lifeline with those eyes. Why was he like this? Why was he always getting in the way of him, a block in his path, this gothic gangster in his apartment? He was all danger and something to look out for, a threat to the law and a blight in society if you will but here he was, pleading for his admittance in his bedroom like a schoolgirl waiting for their crush and he wondered how anyone could ever see this man as threatening, how he could have ever when he looked so lost and human as he grabbed his hands and awaited his reply.</p><p>He was too much for him.</p><p>“I liked it…”</p><p>Boris broke into one of his smiles, satisfied before letting him go and appreciating the way he shifted awkwardly from the touch, remembering parts of last night in a dream sequence, and suddenly he was red for a whole different reason. Boris smiled at his crotch in appreciation before looking away, coy.</p><p>“Looks like you liked it a little too much.”</p><p>“Shut up.”</p><p>And just as quickly the moment was over and he was reduced to the ass in his bedroom once again. Theo shifted so he couldn’t see, awkward, but Boris had already gotten an eyeful and was smiling to himself while he backed away, really not wanting to do this now as Boris tried to get a good look again and he had to cover his crotch up with his hands as he jumped around to get out of his line of view.</p><p>“What will you do about it?” Boris asked him. There was a whole lot he could do with it but this idiot was in the way of the bathroom and he wasn’t about to pull one out here, out in the open. He scowled as Boris blocked his exit, at odds with him as he dangerously wanted to put an end to this, even if his eyes were gleaming back at him like this was the best thing in the world.</p><p>Frustrated, he thought to swing but his hand was caught by Boris who tutted as if his aim was just that disappointing. He was growing hot in the face the more he looked at him, with that self-assured smiled and teasing lips. He was growing cocky and he didn’t like it. He was already cocky enough as it is. Boris grinned, looked at where this has led them as he watched his face fume in fury and he gloated because he was the only person that could ever do that.</p><p>“Holding hands now, Potter? I don’t think that will help-”</p><p>He was angry, viciously angry so he took fingers to his mouth and brushed them against his lips, slowly staring until he took his forefinger and middle and sucked, scowling back at him, his lips stretching as he leaned to accommodate the the length, holding as far as it would go until he could, then pulled back and licked them fervently. Boris made a low noise, in the back of his throat, almost like a moan until he pulled his fingers back in until it most definitely was one. He pulled them in and out, slowly, without taking his eyes off of him before he pulled his hand away with a satisfying pop.</p><p>Boris stared unabashedly as he wiped his mouth with his arm before getting up and walking away with his eyes closely on him.</p><p>“Now who’s the hard one?”</p><p>He readjusted himself as he went to go get some clothes, Boris staring at the back of him before getting up to follow, pulling his clothes on from the night before. He had used his washer earlier this morning.</p><p>“Come on. We’re going to the shop.”</p><p>When they got to Hobart &amp; Blackwell’s, there was a note on the door claiming they were closed for the day which Theo took it to mean the worst but in reality when they got inside, Hobie was only nursing his head and taking a day for it. Boris told him “I told you so.” while he had gotten irritable, resolving to stay in the shop until Boris dragged him out again to get something to eat. Hobie had agreed to it, watching them go as he chuckled to himself as he called the number to his favorite takeout place, wondering what else those boys would get up while he wasn't up and about. He took a cigar in hand while he laid in bed smiling to himself as he thought about what kind of shenanigans they would get up to this time.</p><p>He hoped they were having fun.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Translation:</p><p>Дорогая - Darling (male)</p><p> </p><p>Sigh. I made a man shut up once by doing that, the Theo thing. Good times</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Customers Are Too Nosy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Do I have a hyper-fixation on New York City?-Yes. Do I have another work currently being worked on that takes place once again New York City-also yes. Don’t judge me. I can’t help if it’s a prevalent city that makes sense to the plot of multiple works. (I should be asleep or reading law textbooks but no, I’m adding chapter notes at 3am on the off-chance it’ll motivate to fucking finish editing and post this bitch!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Why’d you take us here, Whitney?” A young girl complained, huddled between a group of girls in her long socks and sniffling irritably. They were huddled around an old store after school that this bitch insisted on going to without so much as an explanation and they were cold, shivering in their short skirts and Mary Janes. Their outfits were made for fashion not being outside no less, in March in the winter streets of NYC (it was late winter but it was winter in New York alright; the streets were always freezing until May practically) where they could catch a cold, and unthinkably, not be able to go to the next Spring Collection premiere.</p><p>“This isn’t Barney’s.” Jessica muttered. She didn’t want to be here longer than necessary, but Whitney, queen bee of these morons, decided it was better to freeze than to go inside a dusty old furniture store which, granted, she would have never stepped foot in under normal circumstances, but desperate times called for desperate measures. She pulled on her coat as she glared at the back of her head, bemoaning the chance for Italian espresso from her machine back home and warm duvet to snuggle up in.</p><p>‘This better be worth it.’</p><p>“My feet hurt.” Tiffany moaned and normally Jessica would have had it from her but when you wanted something done, sometimes you needed the help of the cavalry, so in this case she relented, and couldn’t help but smirk as Annabelle and Anita agreed with her. They were getting impatient and with one more wrong move she could see her place within their inner circle dissolve into nothing, just a forgotten queen kicked off the bottom steps of the Met.</p><p>Whitney was not having it however. Seeing such obvious satisfaction from that bitch irked her beyond words and she was not having it, not having some low lives who could bear a measly amount of wind and snow in the Great Apple they called home. If they wanted to be a bunch of wusses who couldn’t take the heat, it was fine by her; they weren’t real New Yorkers anyways. If they didn’t get themselves in order, they wouldn’t like what was going to come to them.</p><p>“Will you guys shut up? She yelled. She wasn’t having such insolence from these idiots. There was a reason she had taken these lowlives here.</p><p>“Why?” Anita asked. And if her dad wasn’t such a big name in Wall Street, she would have sacked her long ago. There was just no brain in that girl’s head. She could practically see it rolling about in those dome-like eyes of hers.</p><p>“It looks old and dusty to me.” Jessica sneered.</p><p>“It’s an antique store. That’s how these places work.” She grit out. Did she really have to spell it out for them? Why did they think she was looking so carefully through the window with her face, her face pressed up against? There was a reason she risked smudging her makeup for Christ’s sake.</p><p>“Could you tell us what we’re doing?” Tiffany whined.</p><p>“I have a hair appointment at five!”</p><p>These bitches should be grateful for her showing them this spot. She looked at her gaggle at followers and sighed, knowing that she might as well tell them. This was going to rock their worlds, she swore and they looked at her, interested. Of course Jessice seemed unimpressed but she ignored that; she always looked stuck-up anyways. Giving each girl a good long stare for dramatic effect, she paused for a moment before dishing out the goods.</p><p>“It’s a guy.”</p><p>The girls looked between each other, confused. They looked into the store and then back at her, baffled.“A guy?” Annabelle asked, perplexed. There couldn’t possibly be a guy worth a glance at a place like this. Jessica laughed, thinking she clearly had lost her mind. She grinned back at her as she scowled back at her. She had been thinking of planning her social demise for ages now.</p><p>“Sorry, sweetie. But a man without six figures is no man at all.” She sneered.</p><p>“For your information, this place is one of the most well-respected antique stores in all of New York City and they make loads of money.” She sniffed.</p><p>“This guy is really that cute?” Tiffany asked timidly.</p><p>“Shut up!”</p><p>She didn’t need that condescending tone. As the girls looked at her to see what to do, she breathed in deeply to calm down and prevent herself from punching the stone-cold bitch sneering back at her. The other girls looked worriedly between the two as they locked eyes, neither wanting to surrender. If they didn’t do something now, it could be a bloodbath of smeared makeup and broken nails and no one knew them in this area, much less seen them as important which was both a blessing and a curse; that meant that they didn’t need to hold back.</p><p>Annabelle, because she was the mediator of the group and was the best at deflecting trouble, spoke up to address the scene and prevent an all-out war from happening in a busy place such as this, where they could be seen and would have to explain to the cops why two too such well-to-do girls were assaulting each other.</p><p>They didn’t want to deal with what happened last time.</p><p>“So why aren’t we going in?” She asked.</p><p>The two stopped to give her the accusing eye. She shrunk under their gazes, because they were very intimidating and motioned towards the store to deflect their anger into a more trifling matter. Feeling that she could get control over the situation now, Whitney immediately took over, seeing her advantage in sight. She began to explain how one of the partners was this man in his 20s, handsome and tall with short blond hair and owl-rimmed glasses, sheak, but not too overdressed, with a different smart suit on everytime she would visit and a sweet, pleasant smile. Much better than the boys at the neighboring Collegiate, and mature too. Older boys were much more preferable after all.</p><p>The girls looked between each other with all varying degrees of excitement and as they tried to peek in through the window, they wondered why they all couldn’t just go inside and see him for himself. It was freezing after all and he would be sure to accommodate them. If they were to be paying customers, they sure would be treated accordingly.</p><p>“So why don’t we go inside?” Tiffany asked impatiently.</p><p>“Yeah why aren’t we using some of your daddy’s money to buy out a dresser or something?” Anita piped up.</p><p>Whitney sighed. Sometimes girls could really just be that: girls. Didn’t they realize that there was a system for this? “Because.” She huffed.</p><p>“Because why?”</p><p>And she didn’t want to go about murdering people in cold blood (she had just gotten her nails done) so she pinched the bridge of her nose and threw her head back to prevent wrinkles and keep her head out of trouble. When she was able to collect herself she looked at each and every one of them to show that she made business. That and she absolutely did not want to be interrupted. There was only so much patience she could have, being a lady and all before she started a fight, not finished one; she wasn’t one to listen to a cat.</p><p>“Listen up.” She glared at everyone in her vicinity. “Since you bitches seem to not get the memo, you’re going to listen and you’re going to listen well. If you’re not going to take my word for it and see for yourself, outside, that what I’m saying is true, you are not going to get tickets for Daddy’s next show and we all know that none of you want to miss it. Now you either get seats for the next runway or you sit in public seating like the rest of the losers and lose your standing. Now you're going to listen to me or what?”</p><p>Anyone who was anyone knew that losing a ticket to the biggest show of the season was social suicide and they had already moved up the foodchain throughout the years, getting close to the Lauren family just enough to stand with top dog Whitney. If they were to fail now, who knows what would happen to their futures? No one wanted to cross her. She was scary enough as it is. Even Jessica knew when to stop. And so they watched through the big glass mirror, waiting for the man that she had been talking up to so adamantly of, and after five minutes, when they were about to give up, he appeared, causing all the girls to collectively gasp.</p><p>“Okay, you’re right, he’s fine.”</p><p>“Totally.”</p><p>“Woah.”</p><p>“Okay, he’s hot.”</p><p>Whitney preened from the praise as if it was being given to her. She had them hooked now. “See, I told you.” She told them smugly. It had gone along better than she had planned. They would practically be eating out of her hands now. Introducing mere girls to a practical god could have that effect on them. Her place in the hierarchy was secured.</p><p>They continued to look for a while without holding back, practically fucking him with their eyes but he didn’t seem to notice which was strange because the glass was see-through and they were quite thorough to say the least. He had only checked the register and riffled through some papers, none the wiser until his phone rang and he began talking excitedly into his mobile. He looked much better excited, how he was talking animatedly and grinning widely as he cleaned up for the end of the day.</p><p>“God, he’s cute.”</p><p>“Fuck.”</p><p>When he ended the call, he started heading towards the door, causing them to duck from his gaze, nervous. He seemed to be searching for someone, exasperatedly, as he typed animatedly into his phone. While he was distracted, the girls backed away to get away from his potential view, but just then, a car pulled in, a big and foreboding one. They stopped for a moment, scared out of their wits, but took the time given to them to hide by the nearest parked car as a man walked out with shoulder-cut black curly hair and an overcoat that wooshed as he jogged over to the awaiting blond.</p><p>“Is that a limo?”</p><p>“That’s huge!”</p><p>“Must be loaded!”</p><p>The girls were getting more excited the longer they watched, seeing as how now there was not one gorgeous man but two, this one with fair, fair skin and shiny hair that would make any model envious. He really had perfect bone structure. If you got a meat cleaver and you split his face down the middle, you would have two matching halves. It was very important. Now she had another man to fantasize about and an army of helpful followers to follow her every move. But they were getting annoying now so she had to chastise them. She couldn’t hear a word they were saying and if they didn’t stop now, she wouldn’t get anything out of this experience. She was a gossip at heart after all.</p><p>“Quiet!” She whispered-shouted.</p><p>The two men had met each other at the front of the shop, both seemingly ecstatic as they stared at one another for a moment, a clash of warm browns and whites besides the monochromatic simplicity of a man dressed in black. It was easy to see who was who when standing beside one another; a man of academia and a man of mystery, with emerald tear drops coloring his ears, the only drop of color that made him seem dangerous and cool, and well, more model-like in her eyes as they flashed in the light as he nodded his head. That and the gold rings that seemed to cover every finger. That one was a movie star of some sort or a singer in a punk band, like Nine Inch Nails or Tools. The contrast in styles were otherworldly, like out of a novel or Teen Vogue magazine; either way she was hooked.</p><p>“Hey.” The blond said. Theodore Decker, she believed his name was. She looked him up after she saw him in his store passing one foggy afternoon. He looked like a dreamboat, such class and refined taste. And to know he conversed with such a dark beauty-it made him all the more perfect. She needed to hatch a plan to get him to be her boyfriend and fast or these hungry mongrels would get to him first.</p><p>“Hello there.” The mystery man said. Thick accent; Slavic, definitely Slavic; Russian maybe? She didn’t know. It made sense that he was foreign. A man like that would wake more attention than he was probably having by being local. Perhaps he was here for a visit, see his friend and invite him out for the night, at an exclusive party of celebrities and elites? She tried to rack her brain for any event that could possibly be taking place right now but couldn’t find any. It felt insane to her that there was anything that was going on that she wasn’t aware of, but there she was and now she just had to know what was happening for her not to be invited-the nerve.</p><p>“You ready to go?” The man asked. Smooth voice. He must be an amazing singer, she was sure of it. All dark and broody-looking. He would be getting all the girls, she was sure of it if he just stopped grinning so much.</p><p>Theodore however, was looking amusedly at him, not in the least caring as his lips parted and he smiled softly back at him in a way that was just so sweet for a friend that she thought of how they must have really trusted each other to be so nice and open and not idiots like all the boys that she knew of.</p><p>“Yeah, just one moment.” He said, still smiling and he did something that all the girls’ eyes bugged out of their heads. It felt like a mirage and they blushed harshly against their Louis Vuitton cashmere scarves, their white little faces pink as they watched with mouths open wide.</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>“Oh wow.”</p><p>“Was not expecting that.”</p><p>The scene felt straight out of a movie, with hands pulled tightly in hair and looking, blissful, uncaring that they were right there, in the street, right in front of them. Though she supposed that they had no idea of their presence, it was still a little scandalous, at least in her mind, and as they pulled apart, she could see her dreams of having any relationship with the antique dealer dwindle as they moved to hold hands.</p><p>“Are you okay, Whitney?” Annabelle asked her, and bless her soul, she was one of the good ones being that she could see any distraught on her. She was a good girl alright, always trying to be kind to everyone and she appreciated that someone could be so nice to someone as ruthless as her. But she couldn’t look weak, not in front of anyone of such lower rank, so schooling her expression, she slapped her hand away, snarling.</p><p>“What are you talking about? As if.” She huffed.</p><p>As they circled around to their car, she felt a mixture of emotions: for one thing embarrassed to what she had seen and another for being so stupid as to not figure that he was already taken. He was just too good-looking to not be. She needed to think up a plan soon, or her hold on them would dwindle and then what else could she possibly be good for? She could hear them whispering to each other, even as the car had driven away and it seemed either they hadn’t noticed or they were too preoccupied to care, seeing as they were in a scandal over the events that had taken place and had needed to gossip, now, or they would lose their minds.</p><p>“Did you see that?</p><p>“Must be his boyfriend.”</p><p>“I thought I was going to faint!”</p><p>“How can they both be so hot?”</p><p>Their reactions were different to what she had expected and thinking of it now, it had been silly for her to have thought that she could have possibly obtained him. That idea was scrapped. It was time for a new strategy to be born, where she would still be revered amongst her followers while still maintaining her status, or in fact, elevate it. There were still ways to capture their interest.</p><p>“Hey girls. I’d like to offer a proposal.” They looked to her with bright eyes and bated breath. This was good, very good for her and congratulated herself in being able to successfully get what she wanted, even if there was a slip up in her plans. “How about we meet every Thursday at Hobart &amp; Blackwell for now on?” She grinned, as they looked to her in wonder and amongst themselves. How could they possibly resist?</p><p>“You know what, I’m in.” Annabelle said.</p><p>“Me too.” Tiffany piped up.</p><p>“Okay, yes.”</p><p>The lackeys were accounted for. Now it was only Jessica left: the difficult one. The girls all looked to her for her answer and seeing their expectant faces, sighed. She knew she wouldn’t win this and perhaps she was curious about those men and their shiny black car. It wouldn’t help to object now, not when she had no backup to her name. So knowing she had lost, she relented, because that was what was the best that she could do in this situation anyhow.</p><p>“Yeah, okay.” She said.</p><p>Whitney grinned. “Excellent.”</p><p>Over the course of the next few weeks, the girls did in fact visit Hobart &amp; Blackwell as promised, but not without a few more surprises. Somehow (because of Anita’s smart mouth), the other girls in their classes had heard about their excursions to a one very well-known antiquity store amongst the higher circles, and more importantly, the likeness of a certain partner and had insisted on going. Much to the surprise, and satisfaction of Whitney, she was now leading squalors of girls to the once much more empty store to check their wares (and men), which had led to an increase in her popularity and rank amongst the student body. She was now known as the girl with the insights, and the means of access to get you on the in with the finer people of society, and while her and her “friends” had now known about their patron’s “social activities,” she had found it best for everyone involved not to share it out (even Anita’s big mouth). After all there was a low, even for the high-class.</p><p>As for the one and only Theodore Decker, he was confused as to why he was obtaining so many clients from the Chapin’s School for Girls, wondering why on Earth teenagers wanted a Queen Anne’s table, but he wasn’t one to turn in paying customers. He had at a couple points had some apologetic fathers ask for the money back due to their daughters’ “abhorrible spending” but overall, the socialite families didn’t seem to care, calling it an investment. The school girls were giggly and loud but he was overall happy to help find anything they wanted, which most of the time meant “something pretty.” No matter. He got work from it either way.<br/>Of course there were times where work had gotten even more hectic than even then. Anytime Boris was around, the store seemed to pack itself. Hobie had even been taking to coming out of his dungeon, overjoyed over “the young minds interested in antiquity” and would even spend his time attempting to teach them between real antiques and fakes which should have hurt business but really the girls only wanted a good look at fine ass so they never listened for too long. They tried to steer away from the old man as they tried to get a good eyeful of “the finer things in life.”</p><p>Theo had never found out exactly why there were so many girls about, but you could bet your ass that Boris had noticed after a time. The Chapin girls could only be discreet for so long until a gangster would find you out (they weren’t that discreet to begin with; Theo was just really bad at paying attention to people). He enjoyed it, immensely, and had even gotten in trouble with Theo just to make them swoon. One day when he was messing around he gave the girls a wink and they have never been the same since.</p><p>Theo was never the wiser.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I admit this chapter was a bit self-indulgent in my thoughts on a Gossip Girl, Clueless, drama-fantasy but I wanted to show how time could change them, and improvement on Theo’s behalf from an outside view. Also I loved adding bitchy Manhattan girls to this XD. Credits to the beautiful Heather MacNammara for the cleaver reference. :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Epilogue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was Christmas again and the New York weather had tried its hardest to make the weather absolutely cheerful. With its gusts of high-speed winds and flurries of snow nipping at your face, day in and day out whenever you so much as poked your head out your window, it was sure to leave a person begging for more of this Christmas cheer, this White Christmas kind of weather. It was perfect for the holidays after all. Theodore Decker wouldn’t have said that at all however, gritting his teeth irritably as he so much as crossed the street. He hated the heat but he sure as hell didn’t like death weather, and with what the weather report had been saying, it was sure to pile up: three feet of snow and counting. </p><p>Great. </p><p>It was all for Christmas cheer. It was all for Christmas cheer, he had kept telling himself but he didn’t believe in any of that bullshit so he had taken to huffing up to Hobart &amp; Blackwell’s for the sake of friends and the family-like atmosphere that he could admittedly get excited for. Because he was a man and he could get excited, for family, and friends. Friends-family. He didn’t exactly have any family around anymore but they were his makeshift one, however strange, because that what had been given to him and that’s what he had grown to love so if he got a cold after all of this, it was worth it (even if he would be bitching about it till kingdom come).  </p><p>“Hey, I’m here!” He called into the door, not bothering to wait for anyone to come scurrying out or anything after knocking on the door. It was his store too after all. He was covered head-to-toe in snow-it was a bad storm alright. He wanted to get warm and fast but before he could even shrug his coat off and put his waterlogged shoes away, he was greeted by a long-haired missile with a deathgrip and laughter in his eardrums. He backed up slightly, nearly hitting the door, but returning the hug, reluctantly, because he was going to get snow all over him and he was only in a maroon sweater and jeans. </p><p>“Happy Christmas!” Boris yelled into his ear. </p><p>“Merry Christmas.” He told him begrudgingly. “Now get off. You’re going to freeze.”</p><p>Boris huffed but let go, turning towards the kitchen. The others were waiting for him there and of course he greeted each and every one of them, even Everett. He shook his hand rigorously to prove his point that he was okay with him. </p><p>“Congratulations.” He told him. </p><p>“Thanks mate.”</p><p>Pippa and Everett were there, as per usual for the holidays. The couple had come back to the States only the night before so this had been his first time seeing them this year. Exhausted as they may have been, they chugged a bit of coffee before arriving to stay awake long enough to see everyone. And cause they couldn’t just miss out on Christmas. It would have been a waste to miss out on Pippa’s only family, her real family. And at this point in time, he couldn’t agree more. </p><p>Theo could see her from across the room with that glittering finger-nice cut, looking too thrilled for words. Her eyes were sparking and she was laughing hard tonight and they hadn’t even opened the wine yet. The way she smiled told him just all he needed to know and he couldn’t help but grin back even if she was none the wiser. </p><p>But it seemed she had noticed, even as she was talking animatedly about Dostoyevsky to Boris who was nodding at her encouragingly, smiling widely because despite the fact that The Idiot scared the shit out of him, he absolutely adored the man. Pippa turned and smiled in his direction, like the ring was a mirror of her: bright and lively and shining in his eyes and he just knew that she would be okay. </p><p>They had been talking more these days, animatedly and sending pictures sometimes, taking smoke breaks in between work that Everett was none the wiser of. She didn’t want to worry him and despite being British he had a lot to say about cigars, all health-related and why they were bad for you. She was planning to tell him soon though and despite the fact that she had kept it away from him, popping breath mints all the time and blaming the smell on her friends, she still loved him and she knew he could ignore this one fault of hers. “If anyone could, it would be him,” she said. </p><p>He was happy for her. He really was. </p><p>“Doing alright, Theo?” Hobie asked him from his corner of the wall. They weren’t in the store section of the building so they were free to rest in whatever space they wished which he was taken full advantage of. He looked to the aging man trying to get comfortable in the space next to him and in his futile effort, he had suggested for them to sit upon the couch in the den which he had gratefully agreed to. It was quieter in this section of the home anyhow and you could actually hear yourself think, how incredible. Everett was asking questions about Russian classic literature right now which Boris was delighted to oblige to and was giving a lecture on the merit of each writer he deemed important chronologically which was most definitely going to take awhile. He had time. </p><p>“Yeah, I’m good.” He told Hobie. He didn’t know if he would believe him, but that was the truth. It didn’t feel like a bad day to him. In fact, if he could believe it, he was smiling, shallowly, just as Boris called Bukowsky a worthless piece of shit. Everett looked surprised and Pippa was cackling but agreeing with him on the matter as he watched from the sidelines, absolutely shocked. Hobie was watching as well, and even though they couldn’t exactly contribute to the discussion, they thoroughly enjoyed it from the comfort of their seats, old souls they were watching the younger ones get into banter. </p><p>“Everything is fine, Hobie. I mean it.” He said as he watched Boris bring out a big bag of various books, unwrapped and still in the bookstore shopping bag that he bought them from which he berated Everett with, making him promise to read at least five different authors as Pippa took on the challenge for him, but Boris would have none of that. “He needs to read and learn!” He said. “You can’t spoon all the answers!”</p><p>“It’s spoon-feed Boris!” He called after him. </p><p>Boris scowled, ignoring him. He laughed as the commotion got louder and Pippa was trying to get him to relent, only half-heartedly, but he would not, as he continued lecturing her fiancé who was at a loss of what to do. Boris made a point of emailing him relentlessly about each book and you could see the way the poor man’s face fell as he thought about the amount of spam he would face in the near future. </p><p>	The rest of the night went off without a hitch seeing as everyone was pleasantly drunk on Merlot-that and Christmas cheer or whatever. It was sort of easy to be merry when you had that bit of something to keep you occupied. That stupid tension in your shoulders disapates and you’re left feeling lighter, a hot air balloon kind of free that could be blamed on something rich and warm and heavy that turns feelings, actions, however immature from “just the alcohol” to actuality, however ludicrous.The guise of a good drink really did hold a room. </p><p>However fleeting it was, it could be a night to hold onto. </p><p>Boris of course wanted to keep going. Boris of course wanted to party. Boris wanted to keep drinking until dawn, hyped up on wine and whatever he had snorted in the bathroom when they weren’t looking. He wanted to eat and drink to his heart’s content, gleeful and accusing of the arts, philosophy and the horoscopes that he had liked talking to his dad long ago. He wanted to laugh and drink and eat marshmallows by the handful and then dance about the room like a lunatic, no music save for Pippa clapping and his whoops of delight. He was striking in that way, flashes of teeth and a mess of limbs as he jumped about, spurred on by the scene and the lights and his own ego. If he were to look for even a second too long, the day would have really gone by in a flash and Boris would have gotten his wish. But sometimes there were things to do that took precedence. </p><p>He walked over to Boris, grabbing his hand and pulling him along towards the door. Caught in surprise, Boris balked before pulling on his arm, wrenching himself free with eyes as wide as dinner plates. They had barely talked the entire time they were there and all of a sudden he was pulling on him without so much of an explanation or a word towards the door as the party was cut short and he was reduced to staring at him in shock and little bit of irritation as he waited for him to fucking say something to him, a right he obviously had. </p><p>“What are you doing?” He asked.  <br/>	And didn’t know what to say to that. He had felt the urge. He had needed to leave. They needed to go before the night ended but he could explain that otherwise he would suspect something and it would ruin the surprise. He could have had more tact with this. He could have picked a different time, but here he was, ruining a party and pushing him to do something he didn’t want to. </p><p>	“We’re going to go for the night.” He told him because he couldn’t say anything else. There was perhaps another reason he wanted him now, just take him away from the chaos of the shop and be alone with him. He wasn’t alone with him all day, too preoccupied and when the going gave him an excuse, here he was using it to get him away as soon as possible despite the company, despite the love he had for these people.</p><p>He needed him right now. </p><p>There was something about his demeanor that told him that it was something that he shouldn’t question. The crowd at the door thought as much as they didn’t say anything, only acting as if it was really the norm for them as they got ready to part ways all of a sudden and for Theo to go and suddenly act like a desperate wreck. </p><p>“Goodbye.” “Careful outside.” “See you guys tomorrow!” They had told them. Theo had thanked them before getting his coat and shoes together all the while waiting for Boris’s reply. He had stopped cold at the door, looking to be unwilling with his scrunched up face and accusing brows. He had really wanted to stay. He could see as much. Despite his demeanor however, he sighed, wrapping up a scarf around his head and walking with him out the door after giving some half-hearted goodbyes and a promise to return in the morning. When all was said and done he trusted him with whatever this was. </p><p>They hurried, because Theo had set the pace and he knew Boris would follow, reluctantly in this case. They had walked a ways at this point, not far off from their destination but in this weather it felt like an eternity. There was so much snow and it wasn’t stopping now, the fall thick as a fog as it coated everything and anything in their vicinity. It was hard to tell the difference in what street was which at this point but when you were a veteran of the land at this point, like Theo very much was, it wasn’t too hard if you had 20/20 vision. Too bad he wasn’t. </p><p>Boris was growing impatient with the whole endeavor. It was cold and they could barely see and he didn't know how this could possibly wait given the circumstance. It was god awful out and this was no weather to be going about like a lunatic. Even he had limits. Scowling until he pulled on his coat lapels to get his attention. His distaste sounded like the howls of the wind in their ears. </p><p>“Where are we going?” He yelled, because otherwise he wouldn’t hear him. He looked to be growing angry at this point, his hairs a mess of flurries and clumped together against his hair because of course he couldn’t bring himself to wear a coat with a hood, “Not nice-looking” he would say and it would make him angry but he was the same. They were both stubborn when it came to their clothes. He sighed, because he could see how much he was fuming under his gaze, white hot and a contrast to the weather and his pedigree. There were snowflakes in his eyelashes. </p><p>He didn’t dignify him with a response, instead choosing to walk faster. He huffed, but followed, even as they came up around the bend to his neighborhood, and Boris finally figured out where they were,perplexed as they came in the direction that they had been hundreds of times before. </p><p>	“If you wanted that bad, you could have said so.” Boris barked out at him and he had to stop for a moment to get his bearings as they entered his apartment lot before looking at him and then continued walking. </p><p>“Get your mind out of the gutter.” Theo muttered and he grinned, just because he couldn’t help it. Then, after a moment’s silence, he mumbled under his breath to the point that it could barely be heard but he could just catch it, just as the wind tried taking it and he could hear his adrenaline spike as he registered what he had just said. </p><p>	“Later.”</p><p>	Once they were at the outside of the lobby, Theo quickly used the opportunity to run off into his apartment complex, leaving Boris in a cloud of falling snow that left him baffled and most definitely irritated. Theo was running towards his place, in a hurry and a blur of snow and wool before he turned back around and begged Boris to wait a moment, pleading with him even. Boris was mad and confused and a little drunk and it wouldn’t have been too much of a crying shame to deck him, right now. He was upset over having to leave so soon and to trek, in the winter, in the snow, to a place he had been hundreds of times before only to be banned from going in when it was snowing and they were slowly before surely being buried alive the longer they were outside. But it meant something to him, he could see it in his eyes and so he relented without so much of a snarky remark or something to leave muttering or stumbling back to his home, embarrassed. He had already given him an older edition of Crime and Punishment earlier. He had no idea what this could possibly be about. </p><p>	He watched his figure leave him as he was left in the snow but it didn’t take that long before he was back again walking slower than before with a big box with a red bow atop which like it was the most delicate thing in the world. It was too big, much too big for anything he could have in mind and he smiled at the obvious thought that had been taken into it. It looked like Theo had run a marathon, all sweaty and bedraggled, but relieved to see him exactly where he left him at the front of his building. He was about to swipe the box when Theo held it up over him (fucker) to give him a long and winded speech. </p><p>“I know it’s a lot to take in and you don’t have to answer right away, we can always return and it’s no big deal if you say no. I’ll be fine either way, okay? But anyways I you’ll like like it or I might be completely wrong and I completely messed up and-”</p><p>“Theo.”</p><p>“Yeah. Okay. Fine.” And gave him the box.</p><p>“Be careful.” He warned. </p><p>He opened it carefully and was surprised to see what was inside and more so that it was Theo who had actually gotten it. He moved a little in place in agitation as he waited for his reaction, hoping it to be a good one. </p><p>“I figured since Popper...you know.” It hurt to think about it so Theo tried to keep it from being mentioned. He was an old dog but still-Boris was inconsolable for weeks. “You like her?” He asked him instead.</p><p>As soon as the top was opened, he could see a little bundle of joy, this tiny black puppy with a matching red bow from the box, wagging her little tail and moving her head against his hand. He set the box down in the snow and picked her up, overjoyed at the discovery as she licked his face excitedly. </p><p>“Like her? I love her!” Boris gushed.” “Oh, you sweetheart! Are you the prettiest, most precious child? Yes, you are! Yes, you are! My little angel!” He rubbed his face against hers only to have her lick him even more, yapping a little in her tiny puppy voice as he cooed. “You are my new favorite person! Yes, you are! What is her name?”</p><p>Theo smiled, relieved but not surprised. Boris always liked dogs and this one he was sure he would appreciate, her little tongue lolling in the air as she looked between their faces, curious about what was happening. She was getting squirmy so Boris’s grip, so he readjusted her, scratching under her chin as he listened to Theo talk. </p><p>“The breeders gave her one. Called her Bells, I guess because of Christmas or whatever, but it’s your choice. She’s yours.”</p><p>He gave her a look for a moment, thinking before he shouted  “Then Belka! You are Belka! My sweet child!” And she barked approvingly as he moved her around in his arms like a plane, which she enjoyed immensely. She barked happily as he made little pretend dips in the air and he laughed at her little expressions as she barked at him to do more. </p><p>“Oh thank you!” He cried. “Thank you!” </p><p>As he scratched her little head happily, she moved side to side to give him a better angle to the point that the ribbon sagged and he could see something else on her, a little silver piece of metal. He moved the bow away to look at it closer, curious. </p><p>“Does she have bells on?” He asked curiously. </p><p>Theo looked at him nervously before telling him. There seemed to be a little tension in his shoulders as he looked at him and the small dog, an affenpinscher. He figured he would appreciate a little dog. “No. There’s another surprise.” He took off the bow to pull off whatever was attached to it, freeing Belka’s little neck from the big gaudy thing. She shook her fur in relief as she looked at the two, waiting. She wanted pets. </p><p>“A key?”</p><p>It was glimmering in his hand from the way the light hit it, the only light in the area where the street lights sans the sad little string lights people had roped around their balconies and the kaleidoscope of colors from the building inside. He stared at it for a while without a peep as Theo looked like he might faint, pink from the cold and the look they shared between them. “I got you a key. To my place. So you can come anytime you want without having to open the door all the time or leaving the door open all the time. For the dog, and well, me.” He muttered the last part like it was a scandal which in his head it really was.</p><p>“You don’t have to use it if you don’t want to. In fact, you can just give me the key now if you want.” He blabbered on nervously. He knew he was being too fast. “It alright, I won’t-”</p><p>And somehow, once again, Boris had surprised him by wrapping his one good arm around him and pulling him in, the dog cradled in one arm and his hair in the other. He kissed him and it was sweet and slow and he tasted tongue for a moment, and then he pulled away. He forced himself to pull away as well. He could feel his breath on him, stirring him for another go, but he didn’t, not when he could see that smile on him, shining and melting the snow falling on his nose. He couldn’t help grinning from it, watching, and they were staring at each other, really staring, pink from the cold and chilled to the bone but it didn’t matter-Boris had shifted the puppy so that she was pressed between his scarf, pushing her face into its warmth- until it was ridiculous and they barely felt the chill, too caught in everything, in a “them” and then they were laughing, laughing so hard that they nearly knocked into each other, hands around each other and a dog in-between.</p><p>	There was a dog, licking his face and arms around his shoulders; hands curling around his hair; fur and ice; melted snow; background Christmas music blaring from someone’s way too tiny flat; the sound of a drunk man yelling from a fire escape and there was a peace to it, however chaotic. Parallels of pain; grievances and godspeeds; misinterpretations and longings and hardships; it was hard back then-still is now, but it had gotten a little easier; they had gotten a little easier. If they could have seen themselves now from back then, if he could have have seen himself now-he doesn’t know what he would have done. He wasn’t really for that then. He still wasn’t that ready for it now. He didn’t regret what he had done before, because he sure as hell wouldn’t have survived the now if he didn't do what led him to today and he couldn’t help thinking about what had gotten them here, how The Goldfinch had did it all and he had leaned into it, leaned into the love it had shared between them and had teared them to shred and had made them whole at the same time; they didn’t need that link anymore. </p><p>He wasn’t perfect by all means. A little crooked; definitely depressed; needed a bit of patching up and some better coping mechanisms; just saving his business once again with the help of his childhood friend-turned-lover; unable to fend for himself alone; completely dependent on others; a danger to himself most of time to the point that people worried, everyone worried really and they couldn’t really keep himself from doing all the terrible things that he would do to himself, to others because he was just that bad. Life had never been really going for him and couldn’t really say that he had ever been satisfied for himself. It had always bitten him in the ass. </p><p>He couldn’t say for sure that he would ever be okay. He never could say that life will ever be that sunshine and rainbows picket fence ideal that everyone talks about. It wasn’t written for him. It wasn’t something he could honestly say “That’s what I want to do with my life.” “That’s all I really want.” Because it wasn’t. He was too much to really be thinking about futures, where he could possibly be in the next few years. He needed to focus on himself; he needed to focus on his career and whatever this was going; if he could really make it without a scare or something awful happening for once; he wanted to be okay; he wanted to always be okay. But that’s not always possible, he knew as much. </p><p>But he could be now, he thinks. He could be now. The sun wouldn’t rise for a while and he was-for lack of a better word-cold as shit from standing like an idiot in hailing snow. Boris would never admit it but he was the same. And the poor dog couldn’t catch hypothermia on her first day home, with them, together. It was something that he had been looking forward to the last few days that he had been hiding her and he could tell that Boris had thought as much. He wanted to get inside this whole time but his dramatic ass just wouldn’t let him. Boris didn’t mind that much though as he could clearly see in the way that he was cooing at the little bundle on him. He took the box to bring back inside. His neighbors would surely give him hell if they saw him leaving it out there. </p><p>He was the one to steer them home for once, guiding them to the door, his hand on the small on Boris’s back and ushering him to a warm flat and a shitty old couch and a tiny television and a mediocre bed and a nothing kitchen, because he was just learning how to life on his own and drugs and clothes were way better than a functioning household or food-he was just that vain and he was just that stupid. It didn’t look like he would ever be as put-together as he tries to make himself out to be and he knew as much but hey, there were perishables in the cabinets and a bag of chocolate kept for whenever Boris was around; he had gotten the works for the dog, the good wet food and a leash and crate; the place was as spotless as it could be with a puppy running about (he specifically bought a load of Febreze for this reason) and his bathroom may have one extra toothbrush and a load of expensive cologne that wasn’t his. </p><p>It was a start to a life that was as unpredictable as ever and lay wake to a whole new set of worries that would form in the back of his mind that he just couldn’t help himself with. It was how he was and he didn’t see that changing, managing but not changing. There was no use hoping for something that couldn’t happen but if there was something to live for, two somethings, a shaggy one and a thing with fur, then he could manage. He had already been keeping himself for so long that what was a few more days? What was a few more years? Life; day-by-day; a day at a time; the minutes, the seconds, something to count on and a welcoming place to come home to every night, with barking and laughter and screaming that felt so incredibly profound that just thinking about it that he had to stop what he was doing to see what was in front of him and that what he was imagining was right there in front of him. He found himself dumbstruck over the realization, having never thought it would have come to this. </p><p>“I’m happy.” He said. </p><p>And he meant it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ah, I’m exhausted. </p><p>I’m considering a sequel. Let me know if you’re interested! You can give me suggestions in the comments on what to write. Thank you for your attention! First finished work so I’m super excited! :3</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4BzTiK6OnQq1TShMBebBsv?si=Jpg8cNViSVaQlNx3K3U-PA</p><p>Fixing the order of the songs currently. They're supposed to be in chronological order of the book and after. I'll update the songs over the week.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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